Operation Christmas Carol
by theHuntgoeson
Summary: Christmas 1983: Lonely and embittered, Gene Hunt has forgotten the meaning of Christmas - until a ghost from the past tells him that he will be visited by three spirits who will show him the error of his ways...
1. Stave I: M's Ghost

**This story came out of a suggestion made by harrypotterfan2009 on Luigi's, to whom many thanks for the inspiration. I'm following Dickens' five-chapter (or five-stave) layout - plus an epilogue never envisaged by Dickens - but within that I'm sticking more to the sprit of the story than the strict letter (I haven't seen the recent film, by the way – this is by the book, as DI Tyler would say), with some small speculations for Series 3 thrown into the mix. I hope you enjoy it, and as always, any reviews and feedback would be very much appreciated!**

"No, Chris. For the last time, you are _not_ taking tomorrow off!"

Chris's lip trembled with disappointment. "B-but, Guv, it's the first Christmas Day since Shaz and I were married, and since Tammy was born, and we want so much to spend it all together, as a family - "

"You can go 'ome at five, same as everyone else, an' spend the evening with 'em. I'm sure Shaz can keep your Christmas dinner hot till then."

"But it won't be the same as spending the whole day with them, and Shaz will be so disappointed - "

"She'll just 'ave to be disappointed, won't she!"

"But, Guv, I've cleared up the Carter arrest, sorted the Stanton stakeout and finished the Fenton robbery. I'm right up to date with everything."

Gene's mouth twisted in a peculiarly nasty smile. "Good. Then you can be in 'ere tomorrow, bright an' early, an' spend a nice, instructive day doing my paperwork."

Chris's shoulders sagged. "Yes. Guv. Will you be in?"

"Of course, Christopher. Where else should I be? Scum don't sleep just because the rest of London's stuffing 'emselves with overpriced turkey, an' _some_ of us remember the need to keep the streets clear."

"Yes, Guv," Chris mumbled.

"Is that all?"

"Yes, Guv. Th-thank you, Guv."

"Then take your unwholesome face out of my sight. _Mush._"

"Yes, Guv."

The others watched anxiously as Chris emerged from Gene's office and shuffled over to his desk, his whole body language betokening defeat. Alex looked at him enquiringly, and he mimed a thumbs-down. She jumped to her feet, marched into Gene's office without knocking, and slammed the door behind her.

"I wouldn't if I were you, Ma'am, he's not in a very good mood - " Chris began, but found himself speaking to empty air. The rest of CID radiated silent sympathy. _When is he ever in a good mood these days?_ None of them dared to say it, but everyone thought it.

Gene looked up with a scowl. "Good afternoon, Inspector, I don't recall you making an appointment an' I didn't 'ear you knock. To what do I owe the honour of this visit?"

Alex slammed her palms on the desk and leaned forward, returning glare for glare. "Gene. I cannot _believe_ that you are forcing Chris to come on duty tomorrow. You know what it means to him."

Gene's face was cold, hard, shuttered. His eyes glittered like ice. "He should count 'imself bloody lucky he still 'as a station to report to."

"You're still punishing him for Operation Rose."

"He's got to prove that 'e can be trusted."

"For God's sake, Gene, it's been over a year since Operation Rose! You gave him another chance, and you know how grateful he's been. He's worked bloody hard since then to prove himself. He's improved no end, even though he hasn't had a word or a look of encouragement from you in all that time. You treat him like dirt, but in spite of everything he's still loyal to you. You're damned lucky he hasn't asked for a transfer."

"Of course he hasn't," said Gene grimly. "Scared I'd spill the beans."

"Have you considered that what you're doing to him is punishing Shaz, and their daughter? They haven't done anything to hurt you."

"Kid's too young to know whether 'e's there or not. If 'e didn't 'ave a kid, 'e wouldn't be making trouble about coming in tomorrow."

"I'll pretend you didn't say that."

"Maybe next year, he'll 'ave _earned_ 'is Christmas Day off."

"The way you're going on, he'll have earned it when all Hell freezes over!" Alex snapped. "Look, Gene, this is Christmas. It's time to show him you forgive him."

"What the 'ell 'as Christmas got to do with it?"

"It's a time for peace and goodwill. For starting over. New beginnings. It's all about the birth of a baby. Let Chris spend tomorrow with his."

"Christmas is just an excuse for the criminal classes to cash in on the stupid, gullible sentimentality of the rest of the population. It's a bloody commercial exercise an' nothing more." Gene's mouth set in a straight line.

"It's _everything_ more. A time for love and peace and happiness. For forgiveness."

"Chris comes in tomorrow."

Alex hung her head for a moment as though defeated, then looked up at him again. "This is about me, isn't it? Because you can't forgive me, and you're taking it out on them."

Gene's eyes were so icy that even Alex had to look away for a moment. "Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart."

"_Please_, Gene. For the day's sake, if not for his. Leave me out of this and start forgiving him by letting him stay home tomorrow."

"Who asked you to come into this?" said Gene coldly. "Tomorrow's a work day like any other day. Chris will work as normal."

"You _used_ to enjoy Christmas," said Alex wistfully. "I remember that party at Luigi's two years ago, the first Christmas I was here."

Gene tried not to blush. He had his own reasons for remembering it too. "Things were different then, an' you know it."

"Yes, they were." Alex's voice registered ten degrees below zero. "I was in hospital last Christmas."

Gene looked away. "Yeah."

Alex cursed silently. _Bringing that up isn't going to help Chris._ "Let me take Chris's place tomorrow."

"No call for that. It's not your shift."

"It won't matter so much to me. _I _don't have any family to spend Christmas with."

Gene's face was set in its most ferocious scowl. Her heart sank. _If he gives in now, it would look like weakness. You've blown it, Drake._

"Chris works tomorrow."

"Fine." Alex's voice was as tight as the skin of a tambourine. "If Chris has to come in tomorrow, so shall I. I'm sure I can find some interesting paperwork to do. I was wrong about you, Gene Hunt. I thought you were a good, kind, decent man. Turns out you're nothing but a bloody Scrooge. Bah, _humbug_!"

"I am _not_ a striped peppermint!" Gene shouted as the door slammed behind her. She marched back into CID, still seething. DI Ray Carling watched her glumly. Nothing had gone right since bloody Operation Rose, more than a year ago. Nobody knew what had caused that spectacular row between the Guv and the Boss - he still thought of her by that title, despite his own promotion, perhaps because he knew how much he had learned from her. As soon as she had emerged from her coma, she had calmly made it clear to the investigating team that her shooting had been a complete accident and that the Guv had been acting to save her life. She had also stated that the real name of the man whom the Guv had killed, was Martin Summers, that he had been stalking her for months, and that he had been holding her at gunpoint when the Guv shot him. Chris had led the investigating team to a shabby, one-room flat filled with evidence incriminating the dead man in Operation Rose and photographs and press cuttings about the Boss and the Guv, which had confirmed her story. Thanks to her, the Guv had been cleared of all charges. But since her return to duty, relations between her and the Guv had been no more than coolly professional, and more often than not they were at each others' throats, with poor Chris bearing the brunt of the Guv's displeasure. It had become particularly bad since the Christmas season had got underway. The Guv had outlawed anything to do with the seasonal festivities. For the first time in living memory there had been no Christmas party. He had forbidden any decorations in the office, and although he could not stop the canteen serving festive food, he had made it clear that anyone who brought so much as a mince pie into his kingdom would find it up their fundament. Ray sighed. He didn't have to be some bloody psychiatrist to see how deeply unhappy the Guv and the Boss both were. He wished he could do something to improve the situation, but he knew his limitations. _Never thought I'd see the day when I thought this, but I wish Twonkhead Tyler were here. He'd crack their heads together and get them to sort all this out. More than I can do._

Alex made her way over to Chris's desk. "Sorry, Chris, he won't give in. I did try."

Chris managed a weak smile. "I know you did, Ma'am. Thanks."

Ray joined the group. "Sorry, mate."

Chris heaved a deep sigh. "Never mind. I just 'ate disappointing Shaz." He glanced from one to the other. "Look, would you like to 'ave Christmas dinner with us tomorrow?"

Alex's face softened. "Oh, Chris, how sweet of you. But this is your first Christmas with Shaz and Tammy. Wouldn't we be intruding?"

"Not at all," said Chris warmly. "You've done so much for us, and you know how grateful we are. We'd love to 'ave you."

"Then I'd love to come," said Alex with equal warmth. "Thank you so much. It would have been a lonely Christmas for me, all alone in my flat."

Chris turned to Ray. "How about you, mate?"

"Thanks, I'd 'ave loved to, but I've got a sizzling bird of my own to see to tomorrow."

"No worries," Chris said solemnly, while Alex laughed. "I'm glad someone'll 'ave a good Christmas."

"In spite of the Guv," Alex said acidly. "I'm on duty tomorrow too, so when we leave I'll nick a pool car to get you home as soon as possible. The Guv can complain as much as he likes."

Chris brightened. "Thanks, Ma'am, that'll be great. Dinner probably won't be ready till then anyway." Alex raised an enquiring eyebrow, and he looked embarrassed. "Don't think Shaz'll let me buy the turkey again. I got it yesterday, a real bargain, but it weighs eighteen pounds. She says it'll take most of the day to cook it."

"Good lord!" Alex burst out laughing. "You'll be eating it up for weeks. I'll have to look out some recipes for you - turkey curry, turkey pie, turkey bolognese, turkey chow mein, turkey à la king - " _Damn. I haven't got them here with me. They're all at home in 2008. But I expect I could write them out from memory if she wants them._

"Thanks. I'll tell Shaz."

"It's a date, then. Oh, well, we'd better get back to work before old Scrooge jumps down our throats."

Chris nodded, and Alex picked up her mug and headed for the kitchen. As she returned with her coffee, Jim Keats emerged from his office.

"Alex," he said quietly.

"Jim."

"I gather you and Hunt haven't been able to bury the hatchet for Christmas."

"The only place I want to bury the hatchet right now is in Gene's head," said Alex viciously.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not your fault that he's such a miserable bastard."

"Look, Alex, would you like to come out to dinner tonight? I'm on leave from tomorrow until the New Year, but I'd like to give you a bit of Christmas before I go."

Alex shook her head. "Thanks, Jim. It's awfully kind of you, but no, thanks."

"I'd really like to."

"I'm sure you would, but no, thanks. I won't lack for Christmas cheer. Chris and Shaz have invited me to dinner tomorrow."

"That's good of them. A pity Hunt can't follow the example of his own junior officers."

"Oh, don't worry about him, he's beyond redemption," said Alex bitterly.

"Are you sure about dinner?"

"Yes, thanks, quite sure."

"All right. Let me know if you change your mind before we both leave tonight." He smiled at her and returned to his office.

Ray glowered at Keats' office door as it closed. _That smarmy bastard's been sniffing around the Boss ever since he got here. You leave her alone. She may be a pain in the arse, but she's _our_ pain in the arse!_

-oO0Oo-

CID dispersed promptly at 5.00. There were no drinks at Luigi's, as he had gone home to Italy for Christmas, and the restaurant was closed. Those who had families, went home to them, while the unencumbered males set out on a pub crawl. Except for Gene. He remained alone in his office, his feet propped on his desk, absentmindedly swilling a glass of single malt in his hand. The lights in the main office were out, and only the lamp in his office remained alight, like a beacon in the night.

A beacon. That was what he needed. Something to follow, something he could recognise and keep to. Christ, this job had never been so hard, and it could only get harder from now on. His face twisted in a bitter grimace. His trust in everyone he loved or depended upon had been broken beyond repair, and now they expected him to go out celebrating with them. Well, they could stuff it. The events of the past thirteen months had proved to him that human relationships were just too difficult for him to manage any longer. From now on he would stick to the one thing that he knew he could do. His job. His beacon.

The hand holding the glass stilled as he heard a noise in the outer office. _Probably some useless tosser coming back for his wallet. _But as the sounds of movement continued, and he saw nothing, his sense of self-preservation kicked in. Could some bastard with a score to settle have got wind of the fact that he was in here alone, and sneaked in to exact revenge? _Impossible. Viv, or whoever's on the desk, would never let anyone get past unchallenged._ He set his glass down, swung his legs off the desk, and reached for his gun.

"Oy! Who's out there?"

Silence.

"If you're some fat fraud in red who's parked your sleigh on my roof, your reindeer'll be venison by morning!"

This time the darkness seemed to respond. Something seemed to coalesce within it and slowly made its way towards his office. Gene tried to shout again, but only a croak came out. His hair stood on end as the shape resolved itself into someone he knew, or _had_ known, walked right through the closed door, sat in the seat facing him, and reached for his whisky and glass.

"Do you mind? It's been so long since I tasted a decent single malt."

"_M - Mac? _"

Superintendent Charlie Mackintosh raised the glass and smiled. "Evening, Gene."

Gene clutched wildly at the edge of the desk and his sanity. "What the bloody 'ell are you doing 'ere?"

"I've come to see you." Mac's voice and manner were as impeturbable and oleaginous as ever. "Don't look so scared. I'm only a ghost. I can't hurt you."

"I'm _not_ scared." Gene hid his shaking hands under the desk. "An' you _did _ hurt us. All of us. 'Ad you any _idea_ 'ow deep the rot went?"

"I knew, yes. Remember, I warned you about Operation Rose before I died."

"You came 'ere to see me. You've seen. Put my Scotch down an' bugger off back where you came from."

Mac put the glass down. "Where do you think I've come from? Knowing all the things I did?"

Gene shrugged. "Pretty obvious, innit? So 'ow come they let you out?"

Mac looked at him very seriously. "Because it's Christmas Eve - " Gene winced, and Mac continued, "I have been given the chance to help someone who once helped me, despite all the harm I did him. That person is you."

"I don't need your 'elp!" Gene roared. "I don't need the 'elp of the man who betrayed everything my team an' I believed in an' left us to fall into the shit 'e'd left behind!"

Mac sighed. "I know why you don't want to listen to me, but in the name of the copper I once was, before I went to the bad, I must implore you to bear with me for a few minutes. I don't have very long."

Gene grabbed the Scotch and took a long swig. "So, what do you want?"

"There are many ways in which a man can destroy himself, Gene. I destroyed myself through greed and the lust for power. But it is equally possible for a man to destroy himself through bitterness and mistrust. By isolating himself from everyone around him." Gene moved involuntarily in reaction and then was still. "Do you recognise yourself in what I say?"

"An' if I _am_ bitter an' isolated, who do you think started all that?" Gene snapped.

"It's too late for me," said Mac gravely. "But while a man still lives, it is never too late to change his course."

"You sound like a Sunday school," Gene scoffed.

"It's not too late for you to find a way back," said Mac earnestly. "I don't want you to share my fate. Oh, I know you can't be corrupted now," he added, as Gene twitched angrily, "but Hell has many forms, and loneliness is one of them. Knowing the harm you have done to those who love you, when it is too late to make amends, is another. Believe me, I _know_. Anne, my wife - Victoria, my own little girl - I know what they went through after I died and are still suffering, learning what I was and what I did, and I know I'll never see them again. I'm all alone there, and I always will be, forever. The isolation you feel now is nothing to what you'd feel there, knowing that it will stretch on for all eternity. DI Drake was right in what she said to you, earlier today. Christmas is a time for new beginnings. I'm here to tell you about the chance you will be given, of avoiding my fate. Not by me," he added, seeing Gene stir angrily again. "I know nothing I can say could influence you now. That is why I have arranged for you to be visited by three spirits, all of whom are already known to you."

"_Spirits_?"

"Yes. One living, two dead, one from Heaven, one from Hell."

"Bloody 'ell, no thanks. I'll stick to the spirits I can get inside bottles."

"My part in this ends tonight," Mac continued, as though Gene had not spoken. "I must hand you into their care, one after the other. They will explain to you, what they have to do. The first will arrive as soon as I leave here; the second, at midnight tomorrow, and the third, at midnight the day after."

"I've just told you, I don't _want_ any of your spirits!"

"As you wish, but I won't stand down the operation yet. I'll leave it for you to decide when Number One arrives. You can send him away then, if you want, and I'll cancel all arrangements. But I really hope you'll take this chance." He rose. "Goodbye, Gene. Thanks for hearing me out."

"_Why?_"

Mac paused at the door. "Why what?"

"Why are you doing this for me? I brought you down."

Mac turned to face him. "You forgave me as I was dying. I had come so near to destroying you and everything you believed in, yet you forgave me."

"Yeah. I did."

"I cannot tell you what a help that has been to me, since. Every time a sinner like myself is forgiven a wrong that they did to someone else, it increases, very slightly, their chance that they may, ultimately, be redeemed from Hell. There's still very little chance of that for me. There are too many people I harmed who cannot forgive me, and in all conscience I can't blame them. But your pardon has given me something to cling to. A shred of hope, however small or distant. A single ray of light in the darkness. That is why I want, so badly, to restore some hope to you." Somewhere outside, a church clock struck midnight. "Ah. Time's up. Goodbye, Gene."

He turned, walked through the closed door, and vanished into the darkness beyond. Gene, transfixed, found himself counting the footsteps Mac would need to take to reach the swing doors into the CID office, while his ears strained for any sound. There was nothing. On an impulse, he leapt from his chair and ran to the window to see if Mac would emerge into the street. Night and silence.

"Guv! Oh, you can't imagine how good it is to see you again!"

He whirled around. There stood the only person, living or dead, who might still have the power to breach the barriers around his enclosed heart.

"_Sam._"

**TBC**


	2. Stave II: Christmas Past

**Disclaimer: I should have said at the beginning of Chapter 1 - I don't own Ashes to Ashes, which belongs to BBC, Kudos and Monastic, nor do I own Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol!**

**Thank you so much to all the kind people who have read and reviewed Stave 1. I never thought this little story would receive so much attention! I hope you all enjoy Stave II - please keep the reviews and feedback coming in. **

**Especial thanks to Igiveup for the idea about the press cutting and to my mother for the information about Christmas in wartime.**

In spite of himself, Gene felt tears prickling behind his eyes.

"Hello, Guv." Sam held out his hand, and Gene stepped forward, hesitantly, to take it.

"Sammy-boy. Been too long." His voice was choked with emotion. "Everything's gone wrong since you went."

"Sorry, Guv," said Sam sadly. He was looking past Gene at the press cutting, with his photograph, pinned to the notice board. "May I? I haven't seen this."

"Well, of course you' aven't, you daft twallop, it's the report of your death an' your obituary!"

Sam walked over to the board and stood there for a couple of minutes, reading the cutting. When he turned back to Gene, he was obviously deeply moved.

"_The most loved man_," he said softly. "You all thought that of me?"

"Of course we did," said Gene gruffly. "Do. Jackie Queen wrote that, but it's what we all thought an' still think."

"Nice of her. Of all of you." Sam was plainly skirting around the question he longed but dreaded to ask. "Guv, how's Annie?"

"Okay. She took it bad, of course. But she's a strong lass an' she's pulling through. I offered to bring 'er down 'ere with Ray an' Chris, but she didn't want to leave Manchester. You're still there, for 'er. I couldn't wait to get out of the place, once you an' the wife 'ad gone." Gene rubbed his eyes defiantly. "Bloody 'ell, Tyler, you daft bastard, what did you 'ave to go an' get yourself killed for?"

To his surprise, Sam took the question completely seriously. "I'm so sorry about that, Guv. Believe me, I didn't want to go, but I wasn't allowed to stay any longer. I left somewhere else rather abruptly to come to you, and I shouldn't have."

"Hyde?"

"You could say that."

"But all your transfer papers were in order."

"Sorry, we haven't time to go into that now. Maybe some other time. We mustn't stay here any longer, we've got a lot to do tonight."

"So you're the first of Mac's "three spirits"?" Gene waggled his fingers in a conscious imitation of Alex.

"That's right."

"Blimey, when 'e said they'd be known to me, I didn't expect you. 'Ope you're the one from Heaven?"

"Oh, yes. Don't worry about that."

"Bloody well 'ope so, too. Best bloke I've ever known."

Sam smiled, that old, winning smile. "Thanks, Guv. So, are you coming with me?"

Gene hesitated. He hadn't wanted to accept anything from Mac, hadn't wanted anything to do with his "spirits". He had intended to send the first spirit away. But he could not reject Sam. Whatever else the night entailed, it would be worth it to spend a few precious hours with his lost friend.

"Okay, I'm game. Where are we goin'?"

"It's Christmas. My assignment tonight is to take you back to the past."

"Our past?" Suddenly Gene felt a wave of nostalgia for the Christmas booze-ups in the Railway Arms.

"_Your_ past."

Their surroundings melted away, and they were standing in a shabby but clean living room in a two-up, two-down house in one of the poorer quarters of Manchester. It was festooned with paper chains, and a medium-sized branch, decorated with old glass baubles and paper streamers, took pride of place in the centre of the room. Two fair-haired, blue-eyed boys, aged seven and five, were playing with a set of toy soldiers which were laid out in battle formation on the hearthrug.

"_Stu..._"

"Wartime," said Sam quietly. "1943. Times were hard."

"But Mam always made sure Stu an' me 'ad a good Christmas," said Gene warmly. "God knows 'ow she managed. There was next to no money, wi' Dad away."

"But you didn't need money to make a good Christmas, did you?" Sam said gently.

"Nah. See those soldiers? They'd belonged to Dad an' me uncle when they were kids. She found 'em in the attic an' gave 'em to us for Christmas. Stu an' me didn't care that they were old. We loved 'em. Played with 'em for years. Couldn't afford a Christmas tree, of course. Used to get a branch from the local park an' decorate it. Those tree decorations 'ad belonged to 'er Mam. Victorian, some of 'em. Made those paper chains ourselves," he added proudly. "Stu an' me used to spend weeks cutting old papers an' magazines into strips and glueing 'em together." He sighed. "Not the same now."

"I know what you mean, Guv," said Sam. Gene looked at him very hard. "Nobody uses paper chains any more," Sam continued innocently. "It's all tinsel and foil nowadays."

"Gotcha!" the seven-year-old boy crowed. "You'll 'ave to retreat now or you'll be surrounded!"

"Aw, _Geeene_..." the five-year-old wailed, but he obediently gathered up his soldiers and moved them to a different place on the hearthrug. "Why do I always 'ave to lose?"

"'Cos you're the Germans, an' the Germans always lose," young Gene retorted with unshakeable logic.

"But why must I always be the Germans?" young Stu pleaded.

''Cos I say so!"

Sam grinned. "You always had to win, even then."

"Yeah." Gene was gazing at the younger brother he had failed to save. A sweet-faced, delicate young woman came into the room.

"Mam! It's Mam, young again!" Gene held his arms out to her, as though to sweep her into a bear hug, then checked himself as she realised that she could not see him. Sam watched him without speaking. Gene rubbed his eyes. "Bit of grit," he muttered. "Hadn't remembered she used to be such a pretty lass."

Sam nodded thoughtfully. "Yes. My mother was pretty, when she was young."

"Come on, you two!" Mrs Hunt called to her boys. "You can finish winning the war later. Your dinner's ready."

The two men followed the mother and her two excited children into the kitchen. Gene surveyed the festive table, where his mother was carving a very small chicken.

"Mam used to save 'er ration points to give us a good Christmas dinner. We were too young to realise she was goin' without for us. It was so 'ard to get the grub in wartime. Chicken was a luxury food, bloody expensive. That's why she could only afford such a little 'un. Look, you can see 'ow little she's puttin' on 'er plate, so we could eat our fill." He sniffed the air appreciatively. "Take a smell of that pud. Couldn't always get the fruit, but our greengrocer was a good bloke. Saved it for mums with young kids at this time of year, so's they'd 'ave their Christmas pudding."

"Hard times, but good times," said Sam softly.

"Yeah." Gene swiped fiercely at his eyes. "Poor kids. Poor bloody kids. Didn't know what was going to 'appen to 'em."

Their surroundings changed, and they were in the living room again. The two boys, now three years older, were playing cowboys and indians, prancing gleefully around the Christmas tree, or rather branch, when the door flew open and a big, heavy-set man stumbled into the room, reeling drunk. The boys were instantly silent and cowered away.

"_Bastard_," Gene snarled. "Pissed as usual."

"He hadn't always been like that, though, had he?" said Sam.

"No. 'E'd been a POW. In Singapore. Changi. Christ knows what 'e'd been through. Never talked about it. No counselling bollocks then. Bottle it up or take to the bottle. You know which 'e did."

"Told y' before 'bout makin' a noise when I'm tryin' to sleep!" Gene's father roared, staggering forward. His flailing arm caught the Christmas tree and knocked it to the ground, and he crushed the delicate glass decorations beneath his boots. Stu took one look at their ruined beauty and began to cry.

"_CRYIN"?_" their father roared. "No Hunt cries. You're not mine. Li'l bashtard. Come 'ere." Stu shrank away in terror, and young Gene quickly pushed his brother behind him.

"Leave 'im alone!" After all those years, the adult Gene could not fathom how his younger self could have found the desperate courage to confront his father.

"Y'WHAT?" His father lurched and steadied himself. "Y'_dare_ defy me?" Slowly and deliberately, he took off his belt and looped in his hand with the buckle dangling. "My room. Now."

"No, Rob." All three turned to see Gene's mother standing in the doorway, trembling but resolute. "It's Christmas Day. Let them have their Christmas."

"You?" Gene's father swung round, almost falling as he did so. "I'll give y' Chrishtmas!" He pushed her sideways, hard, and she crashed headfirst into the doorframe and fell with a moan. He staggered out of the room and the two boys ran to her. Young Gene turned her over. She was unconscious and bleeding at the forehead.

Stu sobbed hysterically. "_Mam! Mam!_ Oh, Gene, she isn't gonna die, is she?"

Young Gene had already pulled a none-too-clean handkerchief from his sleeve and wadded it against the wound, but almost at once it was drenched in blood.

"No, of course she isn't gonna die." He was struggling to keep the shrillness of terror from his voice. "I'm gonna get Ma. She'll 'elp 'er. You stay 'ere. I won't be long. Cover 'er over wi' that rug, she needs to keep warm." He leapt to his feet and raced out of the house and down the road, his small legs shaking with fear. Only adrenaline kept him going.

Outside a house in the next street, a fair-haired boy, around ten years old, was kicking a football around. He looked up as young Gene ran up. "Gene? What's up, cowboy?"

Young Gene had totally forgotten the cowboy hat, belt and holster, that day's gifts from his mother, which he was still wearing. "Ray, is your Mam at 'ome?"

"'Course. Where else would she be on Christmas Day?"

"Mam's 'ad an accident. Can she come an' elp?"

Ray banged on the door. "Mam! It's Gene. Mrs Hunt's 'ad an accident!"

After a short wait, the door was opened by a stout, motherly lady. "Wass' all this?"

"Sorry to disturb you, Ma. It's me Mam, she slipped an' fell while she was getting dinner, an' she's 'urt 'er 'ead," young Gene panted. "She's bleeding. Please can you come an' elp?"

"'Course I will. Wait there." She went back inside and returned wearing her coat and hat, and carrying a small medical case. "You stay 'ere, young Ray. Dinner won't be ready for an hour, an' I'll be back by then."

"Yes, Mam."

Gene and Sam watched as his younger self fairly dragged her back to his house. "Good old Ma Carling," said Gene warmly. "Always there to 'elp us when times were bad. She'd been a nurse during the war. I lost count of the number of time she patched Mam an' us up after Dad 'ad been free with 'is fists. She was one of the few people who'd stand up to 'im."

Ma took in the wrecked tree, smashed decorations and discarded toys with a brief glance which said volumes, before kneeling beside Gene's mother. "Gene, get a bowl of water an' a towel. Now, then, Jennie lass, what 'ave you been doing to yourself?"

Gene's mother had recovered consciousness and was moaning softly. "Slipped…"

"Fell over the Christmas tree, did ya?" said Ma sceptically as she sponged the younger woman's forehead.

"No… dropped some fat…doorframe…"

"There, there, love, you stay quiet an' I'll see to you."

Gene's mother tried to rise. "The dinner! It's nearly ready - it'll burn - he'll kill me - "

Ma gently pushed her down. "No, 'e won't. 'E's gone out. Best place for 'im. Gene, go an' check." Young Gene nodded and slipped out of the room. A couple of minutes later he returned.

"Dad's gone out. Chicken an' potatoes are done. I've turned the heat out an' left 'em in the oven."

"Thass' good boy," said Ma absently. "Jennie, this needs a stitch or two. I should take you to 'ospital."

"No!" Gene's mother whimpered. "They'll ask how it 'appened - "

"You should tell 'em," said Ma firmly.

"No - can't - "

Ma looked very serious. "I can do it, but it'll 'urt."

Gene's mother flinched for a moment. "Go ahead."

Ma looked up. "Gene, take Stu out to the kitchen an' be laying the table. I'll be with you soon." Young Gene nodded, took the sobbing, hiccoughing Stu by the hand, and led him out. They concentrated grimly on laying the table, trying to ignore the whimpers of pain from next door. At last Ma appeared in the doorway.

"Good lads. I've patched up your Mam an' given 'er something to make 'er sleep. She's lyin' on the sofa. Thass' what she needs right now. I'll dish up your dinner an' get back 'ome. Your Mam can eat hers when she wakes up. Your Dad'll be out 'til closing time if I know 'im," she added with bitter contempt.

She got the chicken and potatoes out of the oven and served the two boys. "There you go. I'd best be getting 'ome, or my Jim an' Ray'll go 'ungry. I'll be back later to check on your Mam."

"Thanks for everything, Ma," young Gene said gratefully.

"What're neighbours for, lad? Come round to ours after you've eaten if you want. Ray'll give you a game of football." She patted their heads and was gone. The two boys exchanged glances, sat at the table, and fell to. They were ravenous.

Sam had been watching Gene closely while all this had been happening. He had been trying, unsuccessfully, to conceal his emotion, clenching and unclenching his fists, and at last he had to turn away and swipe his sleeve across his eyes.

"Not much of a Christmas for any of you," Sam said quietly.

"Mam never told anyone what 'e did, y' know," Gene muttered. "Never. Didn't want to be disloyal. Remembered what Dad 'ad been like before the war an'still loved that bit of 'im. Didn't stop everyone knowing, of course, but she'd never say. Don't know what we'd 'ave done if it 'adn't been for Ma." He looked painfully at Sam. "That's why I let Ray off with a demotion over Billy Kemble. Ma was still alive then. She was so proud of 'im. It'd 'ave killed 'er to know 'er boy 'ad been responsible for a cell death." He looked, almost pleadingly, at Sam. "You - you do understand, don't you?"

"Yes," Sam replied softly. "There are a lot of things I understand now. Let's see another Christmas."

The homely kitchen vanished, and they were standing outside the side entrance to a Manchester dance hall on a cold, raw night. As they watched, a young couple tumbled, laughing, out of the side door and the man pushed the girl against the wall and proceeded to snog her face off. He was twenty-five, golden-haired and arrogantly handsome.

"Gerroff, Gene!" The girl swatted his hand away from her skirt. "No funny business wi' me, I'm a 'spectable girl. What did you bring me out 'ere for? It's freezing! Let's go back inside."

"In a minute, Liz." His blue eyes were blazing with excitement. "Got something I want to tell you. Can't do it inside. Too noisy."

"Are you drunk?" said Liz suspiciously.

"No, no, promise I'm not. Word of a copper." He raised his right hand as though making an oath in court, and Liz rolled her eyes. "Want you to be the first to know. 'Aven't even told Mam yet. I've been promoted. Detective Sergeant. Effective from yesterday."

"Oh, Gene! I'm so proud of you."

"Means more money. Means I can get a mortgage."

"What're you talking about?"

"Want you to be my Christmas present. Want to ask you to marry me, Liz."

"Oh, Gene - "

"Listen, love. Want to make sure you know what you'd be taking on. Policing isn't a nine-to-five job. It's dangerous an' the hours 're long. I'll 'ave to work shifts, an' I'll 'ave to go out at any time if I'm needed on a case. It won't be easy for you. You'd be marryin' the job as well as me. But I know it's what I've got to do with my life. Will you take me on, Liz? Will you marry me?"

"Oh, yes, I will, Gene! I will!" She fell into his arms and they kissed passionately before she dragged him back inside.

"Fair play to you, you did warn her what it would involve," said Sam gently.

"Yeah." Gene stared ahead blankly. "I did love 'er, you know. An' she loved me. All my fault. I put the bloody job first too often."

Their surroundings changed again, and they were in a living room which Gene remembered well. It was decorated with crepe paper streamers and a small, scrubby Christmas tree. Liz, eighteen years older and blowsier, sat in an an armchair, chainsmoking and staring at the TV. An open bottle of red wine and a glass stood on the coffee table. They heard the sound of a key being turned in the lock and the front door opening, and Gene saw his younger self lurch into the living room. Liz leapt to her feet.

"You bastard! What sort of bloody time do you call this?" she screeched, and he cowered as her shrill tones seemed to drill into his aching skull.

"Sorry, love. Sorry." He steadied himself, and through the alcohol his eyes were full of grief and pain. "Found a li'l kiddy dead s'morning off Princess Street. Been raped an' murdered. 'Ad to tell 'er mum an' dad. All 'er presents round the Christmas tree, waitin' for 'er to come home an' open 'em. 'Er stocking 'anging up by the fire. 'Er mum collapsed when we told 'er. 'Ad to get 'er dad to identify the body. At Christmas. Who'd do that to a kid at Christmas, eh? Four years old. Four bloody years old."

"You're pissed," Liz snarled.

The younger Gene waved his hand vaguely. "Sorry, Liz. Had to 'ave a drink. Couldn't take it any longer. Kept seeing that poor kid an' 'er mum's face when we told 'er."

"You bastard." Liz took a swipe at him, and he swayed out of the way, holding up his hands to defend himself. "You leave me alone all day on Christmas Day without even letting me know where you are or what you're doing, an' when you come 'ome, you're drunk an' you've brought your bloody work with you."

"Liz - "

"I've had enough of this, Gene! Your dinner was ready five hours ago. It's in the oven, burned to teak an' mahogany. You can help yourself. I'm off out. Martha's promised me a drink."

She gave him a shove as she stormed out of the room, and he lurched sideways, stumbled, and landed in an armchair. A minute later the front door slammed and he buried his face in his hands.

Gene stood looking at the bowed form of his younger self. "Martha. She was the woman Liz left me for. She's right. I was a bastard to 'er, all those years."

"She just didn't realise what she was taking on," Sam said sadly. "She was twenty-three when she married you. Too young to understand what this job does to a man. How it eats into the soul. You and she might not have drifted apart as you did, if she'd accepted that."

"It wasn't just that," said Gene savagely. "You know. You were there. I came 'ome drunk most of the time, an' it wasn't always because of the job. All those one night stands. God knows 'ow she stood it as long as she did. Christ, Sam, I was turning into my dad."

"No, you weren't!" Gene was shocked to hear Sam speak with such force. "Never let me hear you say that. Don't even think it. In all the time I knew you, you never lifted a finger in violence against a woman or a child, and I know you never will."

"No. But there are other ways to 'urt people." Gene remembered, as he did all too often, the pain in a pair of beloved hazel eyes.

The living room melted away and they were standing on the stairs leading down into Luigi's, looking down at the throng below. The restaurant was all but smothered in decorations, and a huge banner over the bar proclaimed _BUON NATALE!. _A Christmas party was in full swing. The tables had been pushed back to create a small dance floor and the whole of CID were jam packed into the space. The volume of the music was already above the level of pain. Gene caught sight of his younger self, dancing with Alex in the centre of the throng.

"_So here it is, merry Christmas_

_Everybody's having fun_

_Look to the future now_

_It's only just begun…"_

The song ended amid a storm of cheering and the dancers stopped while Chris fumbled for the next tape. Alex glanced up and found that she and Gene were directly beneath a large bunch of mistletoe. Their eyes met. They didn't dare kiss, with everyone looking, but the burning glance that passed between them said a thousand words.

"Happy days again," said Sam, leaning on the banister.

"Yeah." Gene was watching his younger self and Alex. That had been the first Christmas after she had joined the team. The look in her eyes at that moment had been something that he had cherished in secret for months. Until it had all gone wrong.

The party vanished, and they were standing in a hospital corridor. A few tawdry decorations did their best to relieve the grim, utilitarian nature of the place. Gene's younger self sat in a plastic chair, his coat wrapped around him, huddled in misery. His face was that of an old man.

"Last Christmas? No, Sam, no!" Gene's voice sounded close to panic. "I do _not_ want to see this again!"

"Sorry, Guv," said Sam sadly.

A nurse emerged from a side ward and addressed the younger Gene.

"She'll see you now, Mr Hunt, but I can't allow you to stay for long. I have to warn you that she is still very weak, and it is imperative that you don't upset her in any way."

"D'you think my seeing 'er will upset 'er?" the younger Gene said anxiously.

"I have to tell you that she has been very confused and distressed, ever since she came round from her coma. She calmed herself enough to speak to the investigating officers who came here, but she has spent a lot of the time crying and talking about someone called Molly. I asked her if we could fetch Molly for her, and she said, "No, you can't. Molly's not here." Do you know where she is?"

"No, I don't."

"That's a pity. It might have helped her. You can see her for five minutes. No longer."

The younger Gene nodded, rose, squared his shoulders resolutely and walked into the room. Alex lay, staring at the ceiling with unseeing eyes. He sat in the chair beside the bed.

"Bolly?"

No answer.

"Well, Bols, I know you won't want to speak to me after what I said, an' after I've proved what a bloody awful shot I am, but I've asked the nurses to let me see you, so's I can give you back your warrant card." He took it from his breast pocket, where it had rested, next to his heart, ever since he had left his office that fateful morning, and slipped it into her limp hand where it lay on the coverlet. "Never should 'ave taken it from you in the first place, but of course you know that. An' I want to thank you for telling the investigating officers it was an accident. More than I bloody deserve. They've dropped all charges an' I'm back at Fenchurch East, thanks to you. We'll 'ave a Discipline an' Complaints Officer on our backs from now on, but the team'll stay together. We're all grateful for that. Ray's Acting DI, an' e's not doin' badly, keeps saying 'ow much 'e's learned from you. He an' the rest of the team send their love, an' they'll be round to see you when you're allowed more visitors. We're all waiting 'til you can be back at your desk again, confusing the lot of us with more psychowattery. Won't be long, the doctors say you're doin' well."

His voice was growing higher with nervousness. Alex had not moved or responded in any way to his presence. He cleared his throat and continued, "An' I want to say 'ow sorry I am for everything. Not just for shooting you. For not trusting you, an' thinking you were corrupt, an' suspending you, an' all the things I said. I'm sorry, Bols, so sorry. Want to take it all back. You didn't 'it me 'ard enough." He hesitated, and went on, "Don't think I'd 'ave got so mad, wouldn't 'ave said those things, if - if I 'adn't thought you cared. That we 'ad a connection. I know now, I was the one that broke it, not you. Don't know if you'll ever be able to forgive me, but I'm asking you to try an' think about it, when you can." His voice dropped lower; he was almost talking to himself now. "I'd give anything, _anything_ on this bloody planet to 'ave things back the way they were, wi' you an' me sitting in Luigi's, setting the world to rights over a bottle of 'ouse rubbish. Some of the best times of my life. I've hoped for so long that it could be more than that. That - that we could be more to each other. Sometimes I've even thought you might feel that way, too. That I might mean something to you. Don't know if I still do, of course. Or ever did. But when you're out of 'ere, I'll let you walk all over me in your pointiest, perviest 'igh 'eels if only you'll give me another chance."

Silence.

"Well, er, the nurses are only letting me see you for a few minutes, so I'll be off now. Thanks for 'earing me out. Get better soon, an' I'll see you back at CID. Unless you let me come back an' see you again first. 'Bye, Bols."

He rose from the chair and turned to leave.

"_Gene_."

"Bols?" He sat down again. She was still staring at the ceiling, and her voice was a wail of pain. But at least she was speaking to him.

"Gene, why am I here?"

"You're 'ere because I'm a bum shot," he said briskly. "If I'd fired two inches to the right I'd 'ave missed, an' the Doc says if I'd 'it you two inches to the left you'd 'ave been giving the angels lessons in psychiatry."

It was the one and only time that she did not correct his deliberate mistake. "No. Why am I here? In this place? This world?"

She was frightening him, but he remembered what the nurse had said about her being distressed. _More bollocks about being from the future._ "Because this is where you're meant to be. Where we all need you an' lo - "

"No, Gene, no, you don't understand. I'm _not _meant to be here. I'd got back _home_. She was there. Molly was there. I even held her in my arms once, just once. Then I saw you, and I collapsed, and I was back here. I know now, it wasn't real. Just another hallucination. A coma _within_ a coma. Why can't I go home, Gene, why?"

"Easy, love. I'll call the nurse."

"I shouldn't be here! I don't _want_ to be here!" she howled. "I've never wanted to be here! I don't want you! I don't want any of you! I want to go _home_!"

The nurse rushed in. "Mr Hunt, I must ask you to leave at once."

He rose and backed towards the door, unwilling to leave without a goodbye but not knowing what he could say. Alex's voice was a horrible, animal-like, keening moan which chilled his blood.

"I don't want you, Gene! I've never wanted you! You suspended me! You shot me! You took me away from my little girl! You think I'm cold. You're right, I am. I hate this place! I hate you! Get out of my sight! I DON'T WANT YOU!"

His heart broke at that moment. He was convinced that he had heard it snap in half inside his chest. If the medics were to open him up, they would find it there, in two neat pieces, like a plate which had been dropped in Luigi's kitchen, broken beyond repair.

He stumbled away down the corridor, out of the entrance, pushed roughly through the carol singers in the forecourt who were collecting for hospital charities, and did not stop until he got into the Quattro, slammed the door, hid his face in his hands and sagged over the steering wheel.

Sam laid a hand on Gene's shoulder as he watched his younger self, reliving all the agony of that moment. She didn't want him. She had never wanted him. She hated him. All the hopes and dreams he had allowed himself to treasure for the past seventeen months had withered and died then, leaving his heart the empty, dry, bitter thing it had been ever since. He had wept, hating himself for his weakness, and when he had shed all his tears, he had raised his head and looked out at the world with different eyes. He had been stupid enough to allow himself to love a mad, heartless bitch. He would have given his life for her. He had even risked telling her how he felt about her. But he was damned if he would allow her to know how deeply she had wounded him. Her rejection would not destroy him. It would make him stronger. From now on he would close and bar his heart to all the world. It was the only way.

"This is why you hate Christmas, isn't it, Guv?" Sam said softly. Gene shrugged his hand away.

"Why, Sam? Why are you doing this to me?"

Suddenly they were back in his office, at night. It seemed to him as though they had been away for an unimaginably long time. If he had looked in a mirror at that moment, he would have expected to have seen his reflection aged by many years.

"I'm sorry, Guv," said Sam gently. "It had to be done. You have to see what has made you the man you are, before you have any hope of being able to change the man you will be."

Gene was about to ask another question, but the church clock outside began to strike.

"Midnight," said Sam, looking at his watch. "Sorry, Guv, I have to go."

Gene felt gripped by panic and despair. "Don't leave me, Sam!"

Sam smiled sadly. "Sorry, Guv. No choice." He turned to go.

"Just tell me, Sam. Will I ever see you again?"

Sam turned back to him. "That depends on what you do now. Goodbye, Guv. Good luck." He turned away and walked through the closed door.

"SAM!"

Gene saw him just once more through the glass, looking back to wave his farewell. Then he turned and disappeared into the darkness as the last chime sounded.

Gene leaned against his desk and took a welcome swig from the glass of whisky which still stood there. Had it all been a dream? Had Sam and Mac really been there?

_Mac said three spririts. Maybe I woke up before the other two. I've been seeing things. Too much Scotch._

But the smell which pervaded his office was certainly not Scotch. He sniffed appreciatively, and his nostrils analysed it as a delicious and particularly potent punch. _Red wine, white wine, Jamaica rum, a dash of Scotch, orange juice, apple juice, pineapple juice, and enough fruit for a market stall. Tastes like a soft drink, but two glasses and you're anybody's. _

He followed his nose to the kitchen, where he found someone standing with his back to the door, cheerfully slicing fruit and humming _God rest you merry gentlemen_. Only one person could ever match that hairdo with that taste in shirts. The punch-maker turned to face him and broke into a broad grin.

"Merry Christmas, mon brave!"

**TBC**


	3. Stave III: Christmas Present

**Disclaimer: I don't own Ashes to Ashes or A Christmas Carol.**

**Renewed thanks to everyone who's reading, alerting, faveing and (especially) reviewing. It's all so much appreciated. I hope you all enjoy this Stave - please keep the feedback coming! **

**After this chapter, I'll try to post one more before Christmas.**

"_Nelson_? What the bloody'ell are you doing 'ere? Don't tell me you're the second of Mac's three spirits."

"That's right, Mr Hunt. Have some punch."

Gene took a glass and sipped it cautiously. _I was right. Tastes innocent enough, but it's got a kick like a City forward. _He noticed that Nelson's Jamaican accent had faded to a gentle Lancashire burr. He recalled Sam saying once, that Nelson used to drop the accent when they talked together. "But you're not dead."

"Ah, but I was always a bit of a spirit guide to young Sam. He understood that. Don't you remember what Mr Mackintosh said? One living, two dead, one from Heaven, one from Hell."

"So you're the living one? But 'ow come you're in London?"

"My body's asleep in bed in my flat above the Railway Arms while my spirit's here on police business."

"_Police_ business?"

"Your business, then. Same thing." He took the empty glass from Gene's unresisting hand. "Come on."

"So, why are you 'ere?"

"My assignment tonight is to show you how the people you know are celebrating Christmas this year."

As he spoke, the kitchen vanished, and they were standing in a large function room. Decorations hung from the walls and ceiling, a substantial Christmas tree stood at one end, and tables laid for dinner stood around the walls, but at that moment the focus of attention was on the centre of the room, where about thirty children, all around ten years old, were mobbing a thin and terrified-looking Father Christmas.

"Wants more padding," Gene said judiciously.

"You know him." Nelson grinned mischievously.

A small hand tugged at an insecure white beard, and it slipped for a moment beforeits owner pulled it firmly back into place.

"Bloody 'ell! Evan White!"

"That's right."

"But what's a poncey lawyer doin' givin' out the ho-ho-hos?" His eyes were already scanning the crowd of children for one whom he knew would be there.

"Alex Price was lonely on Christmas Day last year, so this year he wanted her to have a party, but all her friends had their own family celebrations. So he had a word with the local childrens' home, hired this hall, and threw this party for thirty kids of her age. Including Alex."

Gene had located his little lady, shrieking with excitement as she raced around the perimeter of the group surrounding the hapless Santa. "Looks like it's done the trick. Mind you," he added with a chuckle,"I wonder 'ow many of 'em still believe in Santa, at that age?"

"Kids'll do anything for a pressie," said Nelson knowingly.

Helpers, presumably from the childrens' home, managed to get the kids to form something like an orderly queue, and Evan/Santa gave out a present to each one before leaving with a cheery wave. Gene spotted him creeping back into the room later, wearing one of his usual smart suits, while the children were being served their turkey and trimmings, with Christmas pudding to follow. His heart ached as he remembered his own ruined tenth Christmas.

"They'd have liked to invite you," Nelson said softly. "She often talks about her Gene Genie, and you could have helped keep 'em in order."

Gene smiled faintly. "By threatening to come round to their house and stamp on all their toys?" He shook his head. "I'd be out of place at a kids' party, an' it's best she never sees me again. I'd remind 'er of the day 'er parents died. But I 'ope she knows I'll always be there for'er if she needs me."

"You will see her again, mon brave, and you'll be there for her." Nelson spoke with certainty. "But be careful. The day may come when you fail her just as she needs you most."

_A spirit guide._ For no reason that he could name, a chill ran down Gene's spine. "What the 'ell are you talking about?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out," said Nelson enigmatically.

"God, I 'ope not. I've failed one Alex already, an' that's enough," Gene said, very low, the memory of her sad hazel eyes haunting him again.

After dinner, some entertainers kept the children happy for half an hour while they digested their meal. Little Alex shrank away from a white-faced clown who vaguely resembled David Bowie. _Of course. She remembers that the cassette player was playing Ashes to Ashes when the car went up._ She much preferred a conjurer who was "assisted" by a glove puppet rabbit wearing an Australian bush hat. Later there was a disco, which lasted for a couple of hours until the tired, excited kids were packed into a bus to take them back to the childrens' home, and Evan drove Alex home.

"Did you enjoy your party, Alex?" said Evan, as she snuggled against him in the car.

"Oh, yes, thank you, Evan, it was lovely. Can we have another next year?"

He smiled. "If you want it then, of course we can."

"Evan."

"Yes?"

"I know you were Father Christmas."

"Oh, dear. I had hoped my disguise was better than that."

"Your white beard slipped, but I knew before that. You can't disguise how you move your hands, or the way you walk."

"That's very clever of you. Maybe you'll be a detective when you grow up."

"That's what I want. Ladies can be detectives, can't they? Like that pretty lady at the station, with the Gene Genie."

"Yes."

"Did you enjoy playing Father Christmas?"

"Shall I tell you a secret? I'd rather have to cross-examine a dozen hostile witnesses than go through that again."

"That's a pity. You were a very good Father Christmas."

"Thank you."

There was a short silence.

"Evan, can Charlotte come to tea sometime?"

"Who's Charlotte?"

"She was sitting next to me at dinner. She's so nice."

He smiled again. "I'm sure we can arrange that. I'll talk to the people at the childrens' home."

By the time they got home, Alex was asleep. Gene and Nelson watched as Evan garaged the car and carried the sleeping child indoors.

"Looks like the rest of her Christmas presents'll have to wait till tomorrow," Nelson observed.

"Good bloke," said Gene approvingly. "I know I 'aven't liked 'im in the past, but 'e's done bloody well today."

Nelson shrugged. "He's spent a load of money. What's special about that?"

"It's not the cash, it's what 'e's done with it," Gene said warmly. "Little Alex 'as 'ad 'er party an' she's made a new friend, an' thirty other kids 'ave 'ad a good Christmas too. That's a good bloke, even if 'e is a lefty lawyer."

Nelson spread his hands wide in a gesture of defeat. "Let's see how some other people you know are spending Christmas."

They passed through the darkening streets, as empty as a ghost town except where churches were open for evening services, with open doors revealing pinpoints of warmth and brightness in the increasing gloom, the pealing of bells sometimes the only sound in the frosty air. Elsewhere, they passed pubs, hotels and restaurants open for business and heard Christmas sing-songs around pub pianos. Every other window seemed to boast a Christmas tree or a display of fairy lights, and the houses they passed were full of warmth and laughter. The occasional car ferried people to and from visits to relatives and friends. A dingy green Vauxhall, which Gene recognised as one of the Fenchurch pool cars, stopped outside a block of flats in Southwark and Alex and Chris got out. Chris led Alex up the stairs, unlocked a front door, and proudly showed her into a small flat. Gene and Nelson followed, passing through the closed door - _bloody hell, I'm getting blasé about all this._

Shaz walked back and forth in the small living room, her six-week-old daughter on her shoulder, carefully winding her. Her face bore the pasty look of one who has forgotten what a night of unbroken sleep is like, and there were heavy, dark rings beneath her eyes. Every time she tried to lay the baby in the Moses basket, it set up a thin, uneasy wail, and she had to rock it gently. She kept glancing anxiously towards the kitchen, and was just about to go out there, still holding the baby, when she heard the key in the lock, and Chris and Alex came in.

"Chris! Ma'am! I wasn't expecting you yet!"

"Boss nicked a pool car to get us 'ome quickly,"said Chris, kissing her.

"Merry Christmas, Shaz." Alex, her arms full of parcels, reached around the baby to kiss Shaz on the cheek. "It's lovely to see you again. How are you, and how's Tammy?"

"I'm good, Ma'am." Shaz's exhausted appearance belied her words. "But I'll be better when Tammy learns to sleep a bit longer." As if to emphasise the point, the baby began to cry again, and Shaz nearly wept too, with weariness and frustration. "Oh, no, not _again_. I've got to go and see to the dinner, or it'll spoil!"

Gene stirred uneasily as Shaz's wail reminded him of his mother's dread of ruining the meal, even after his father had struck her. "Drake was right. I punished Shaz as well, not letting Chris 'ave the day off. Big day for 'er, first Christmas as a wife an' mum, an' she's too knackered to enjoy it, dealin' with the kid an' the dinner. She didn't deserve that."

Nelson regarded him, bright-eyed. "Did Chris deserve to be punished?"

Gene could not answer.

"Will you let me take care of Tammy, while you see to the food?" Alex said shyly, setting her parcels down beneath the tree. "I know about babies."

"Oh, thank you, Ma'am, if you will," said Shaz gratefully. "Chris does his best, but he always makes her cry."

"What can I do?" said Chris hopefully.

"_You_ can mix the bread sauce and the gravy, get that monster turkey out of the oven to rest, lay the table, get the wine out of the fridge and drain the sprouts," Shaz said briskly. She gave the small, whimpering bundle into Alex's arms and marched out into the kitchen. Chris followed in her wake, pausing only to turn out the light, leaving the living room illuminated by the tree lights and the glow of the electric fire.

"Hope you don't mind, Ma'am," he said softly."She gets off to sleep quicker in the dark." Alex nodded, and he left.

"Well, Tammy," she murmured as she settled onto the sofa with the baby in her arms, "maybe your Daddy knows more about babies than your Mummy gives him credit for."

Tammy's only response was another thin wail. Alex began to rock her gently, crooning a lullaby. Gene watched, moved beyond words, as he saw a side of Alex that he had never witnessed before. Once, in thoughtless anger, he had accused her of neglecting her daughter. Now he saw her as a mother. It was as though time stood still in the darkened room, with Alex's soft voice the only sound, and the light from the tree and the fire illumining her like a halo. Gene wanted the moment to last forever.

Nelson touched his arm and nodded towards the area in front of Alex, and suddenly he became aware of another source of light there. It slowly solidified into the figure of a little girl with long, fairish hair. She wore a party dress and held a plate, upon which stood a birthday cake with twelve brightly burning candles. To Gene, the image seemed blurry and out of focus, as though it were seen on a badly-tuned TV. Alex looked up and gasped.

"Molly!" Her voice was husky with emotion and longing. "Oh, my darling. It's been so long since I've seen you. Over a year, since the shooting. I thought I saw you then, when I was in a coma. I know now that it was only another hallucination. I'd almost given up hope of ever seeing you again. But I promise I'll never give up hope, I'll never stop fighting."

The little girl did not move or even blink. It gave Gene the creeps.

"You didn't disappear when I looked at you," Alex said softly. "Does that mean that I'm closer to death? Or that someone's fighting for me? How much time has passed with you since I was shot? Is it Christmas where you are? If it is, I hope you have a happy Christmas, even though I'm not there. Oh, Mols, just because I'm here, holding someone else's daughter in my arms, it doesn't mean that I don't want you, it doesn't mean that I don't love you and miss you as much as ever. Oh, _Mols_..."

The little girl smiled, shook her head slightly, held the birthday cake out towards Alex, and took a deep breath.

"No!" Alex's voice was high with panic. "No, Molly, please don't blow the candles out, please - "

The little girl blew the candles out, and vanished in that moment. Alex bowed her head over the sleeping Tammy and wept, silently and bitterly.

"Was that a ghost we just saw?" he demanded of Nelson.

Nelson shrugged. "Could be."

"That must 'ave been 'er daughter," he said, very low. "A ghost. Her daughter's _dead_. That's why she never talks about 'er, never phones 'er, never tries to see 'er. But why didn't she just tell me?"

Nelson shrugged again. "Would she want to?"

"In denial", Gene continued, more to himself than to Nelson."That was what she said about a case of ours once. A bloke who wouldn't accept that 'is wife was divorcing 'im, an' took 'er hostage. She can't accept that 'er kid's dead. That's why she talked about the future. About going 'ome to 'er. As though, if she did go back, she'd find 'er daughter alive. Oh, Christ, I told 'er she was cold. She'll never forgive me for this, Nelson, never."

"Never's a long time, mon brave," said Nelson quietly. "It's been a year since you apologised and she wouldn't accept it. Isn't it worth trying again now?"

"D'you think she'd 'ear me out?" said Gene bitterly. "Or don't you know what she said then?"

"Yes, I know. But remember, she was upset then, and in pain. You know, people can say things they don't mean, when they're angry. Just as you did."

Gene blenched. "Don't remind me."

"Have you been very _forgivable_, this past year?"

Gene shook his head. "Nah."

"Try it. Remember what Mr Mackintosh said - _while a man still lives, it is never too late to change his course_. And don't you think she needs someone?"

_Where I'm needed. _"Yeah." Gene was gazing at Alex, who had laid Tammy down in the Moses basket and was rocking to and fro, hugging herself as though in pain. He ached to take her in his arms and comfort her.

The door opened and Chris crept in. "Dinner's ready, Ma'am. Ma'am? Are you all right?"

Alex resolutely wiped her eyes and stood up."Yes, thank you, Chris. I - I was just thinking, how long it is since I held my own daughter in my arms. She's so far away."

"Sorry, Ma'am." Chris was sympathetic but uncomprehending. "Well done, you got Tammy to sleep. More than I can do. We'll leave her there, she sleeps best like this." Alex nodded, rose, and followed him out of the room.

On the small kitchen table, the eighteen pound turkey, roasted to a golden turn, looked like the Taj Mahal in a suburban back garden. Even after Chris had carved off mountains of meat for Shaz, Alex and himself, there was enough left for a platoon. The smell of the chestnut stuffing tickled Gene's nose, and the sausages, bacon curls, potatoes, sprouts, bread sauce and gravy were all perfect. Shaz had excelled herself. All three tucked in like starving wolves. Shaz had sensibly provided only a small pudding, and while she was out of the room checking on Tammy, Chris incautiously admitted to Alex that Shaz had bought it at Marks and Sparks.

"For Heaven's sake don't let her know that you told me," Alex whispered. "She'd _kill_ you."

"Yeah, you know she's a crack shot," Chris said cheerfully, and turned scarlet as Alex looked away.

_Great, _Gene thought grimly. _DC Skelton wins Most Tactful Copper Of The Year Award yet again._ _Doesn't the twonk remember she was shot, and who did it_ _?_

When at length they had finished eating, Chris poured out wine for all of them and stood, looking very proud and important.

"Ladies and - er, ladies, The Queen!"

"The Queen!" Shaz and Alex rose, and all three drank.

"Absent friends," Chris said solemnly. "May their memory be ever green." They all looked at one another.

"Tyler," said Chris, and drank.

"Uncle Joseph," said Shaz, and drank.

"Molly," said Alex huskily, and drained her glass.

"Ladies, recharge your glasses!" Chris poured out more for Shaz, who didn't need it, and for Alex, who did. "The Guv!"

"NO!" Shaz slammed her glass down so hard that the wine slopped onto the tablecloth, and Chris quailed visibly before her fury. "I am _not_ drinking to him!"

"Shaz - "

"No, Chris. He's made your life hell. I _know _you made a bad mistake, but you've spent a whole year since then making good, and that miserable bastard has done nothing but punish you again and again. The dogs at the station get treated better than you. You should be looking for promotion, but he won't let you. I just can't understand why you're still loyal to him, after everything that's happened. He's given you all the shit tasks, he's belittled you at every turn, he wouldn't come to the wedding, didn't even send a present or a card, and now he hasn't let us spend Tammy's first Christmas together. I'm not going to drink to him!"

"Shaz." Chris spoke quietly but firmly, with an air of maturity and authority that Gene had never seen in him before. "You're right, it has been hard this past year. But remember, he should have reported me when he found out what I'd been doing. Instead, he dealt with it internally, just as he did with Ray after Billy Kemble's death. Ray got a demotion, and I didn't even get that. When the investigating team searched Summers' flat and found his diary, there was an entry that named me as his contact inside the station. They questioned the Guv and asked him why he hadn't reported me. He said that I'd told him what was happening when Summers first contacted me, and that he'd ordered me to work on both sides to get evidence against the Rose team, but that I'd buggered it up and he'd had to pretend I'd been caught taking bungs, to avoid blowing the cover on the whole operation, because he didn't know at that time whether anyone else at the station was involved. If it hadn't been for him, I'd have been prosecuted and I'd be in jail now. Then there'd have been no wedding and no Tammy. I betrayed him, Shaz. I'd been like a son to him, and I destroyed his faith in me and in everyone else. I'll carry that knowledge with me all my life. But in spite of that, he protected me. It would have been the end of his career as well as mine, if anyone had found out. Yeah, he's been giving me a bad time. But he's stuck with me, so I'm sticking with him, and it'll come right in the end. Because he's the Guv."

The table seated four. Three places were occupied. _As though I should be in the empty one. _Gene leaned against the empty chair and bowed his head. He could not meet Nelson's eye.

"In spite of all I've said an' done to 'im..." he muttered.

"Yeah, he's made more than his fair share of mistakes, but his heart's in the right place," said Nelson quietly.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Shaz and Chris looked each other in the eye, and Gene felt that Alex was waiting as tensely as he, for the inevitable explosion. But in the end, it was Shaz who looked at the floor.

"Yeah. All right."

Chris smiled as he recognised her quotation of the words with which she had once answered his proposal. "Thanks, love."

Shaz picked up her glass and drank. "The Guv. May he have a merry Christmas." For the life of her, she could not keep an edge of vindictiveness from her voice.

"The Guv." Gene's heart skipped a beat as he heard the warmth in Alex's voice and saw how her eyes sparkled.

Nelson laid his hand on Gene's arm. "Come on, we've got to go."

"Eh? Can't we stay an' see 'em open their presents?"

"No. Lots more places for us to visit."

They were in a comfortable if shabby living room which Gene recognised as Ray's. The man himself sat on the sofa, his arm around yet another bosomy blonde. They were watching the Queen's Christmas message on TV, but that didn't stop the girl snuggling closer into Ray's embrace or him nuzzling a kiss into her fair hair. The coffee table in front of them was piled high with presents. Gene inspected them.

"Denim aftershave - gold chain, could be 'is or 'ers - lambswool polo neck sweater - VHS set of _The Professionals_ - perfume - silk scarf - book on _gardening_?"

"Looks like Ray's found a girl with outdoor tastes," said Nelson thoughtfully.

"Yeah, plant in a warm bed an' leave undisturbed for several days."

The TV played the National Anthem as the Queen's message ended. Ray grabbed the girl in a clinch and reached for the remote to switch the TV off.

Nelson touched Gene's arm again, and they were in Viv's house. It looked as though the whole of his extended family had packed into his suburban semi for the day, and the place was alive with adults and children of all ages. Gene and Nelson had to dive out of the way several times as one or more guests scooted past. Viv, at the centre of the merry mayhem, looked postively patriarchal. His wife looked merely shattered.

"All right for 'im, 'e doesn't 'ave to cook an' clean up after twenty-six cousins," Gene remarked. "Behind every successful man stands an exhausted bird."

The scene changed again, and they stood in a large room which Gene recognised as the dining hall of Wormwood Scrubs. The inmates sat at the long tables, making short work of their Christmas dinner. Gene noted with pleasure that the assembled company included a number whom he had nailed: Simon Neary, as handsome and arrogant as ever; Doctor Battleford, looking cowed and terrifed by his surroundings; Chas Cale, a dessicated shadow of his former self; Edward Markham, limping miserably to his place at table.

"One of the biggest collections of bastards you could hope to meet," Nelson observed. "But even they know how to enjoy their Christmas."

Gene searched in vain for one face. "Where's John Carnegie?"

"In the infirmary. Got on the wrong end of a knife from an inmate whom he'd sent down. It's hard, being a copper in this place."

"Yeah." Gene's blood ran cold as he remembered how close he had come to being tried and sent down for shooting Alex. He pushed the thought away. "What about Fearless Freddie Higgins?"

"In his cell, pissed on hooch. He'd set up a still in the prison laundry, but even he didn't realise how strong the stuff would be," said Nelson with a grin. "Another way of celebrating Christmas. He'll be missed in a few minutes, when they realise he hasn't shown up for dinner. Then it's the infirmary for him too. They'll have to pump him out. Come on."

Gene lost count of the places to which Nelson took him that night. They stood in a Christmas shelter for the homeless, where volunteers gave shivering vagrants a hot meal and a bed for the night, with medical checks, haircuts and entertainments. _All ways of making them feel more human. _They visited the childrens' ward of a large hospital. A surgeon, who looked as if he were normally very fierce, put on a Father Christmas robe and beard before entering the ward, and Gene was touched to see how he toured about the beds of the children who were too sick to move, with a present, a kindly word, and a pat on the head for each one. In the adult wards, the atmosphere was less frenetic, but still festive, with drinks, festive nibbles, and games to accompany the inevitable turkey. They saw an old peoples' home, where helpers encouraged the frail and often confused residents to join in the festivities. Carol singers arrived, and Gene heard one helper whisper to another, with tears in her eyes, "Can you hear? Mrs Sinclair's singing with them. None of us has heard her say a word since she was brought here eight months ago. That's what Christmas has done for her."

"Yeah, an' what has it ever done for me?" Gene growled.

"More to the point," said Nelson mildly, "what have _you_ done for _it_?"

Gene didn't answer, but Nelson's question set him thinking. In so many of the places they visited that night, they witnessed the sense of peace and goodwill engendered by the season, inspiring people to help each other. _Making each others' lives better. _He had always prided himself on making things better for the law-abiding: that was a copper's job. But when he had been hurt, he had retreated to his den to lick his wounds, spurning all offers of assistance and conciliation. He did not feel proud of that.

He had forgiven Mac. So why could he not forgive Chris?

Because of Alex.

The struggle with Mac had brought him closer to Alex than ever before, and amid the bitterness of the battle, he had cherished that. Chris's betrayal had left him unable to trust Alex, and had driven them apart. But he had just learned that in rejecting Alex, he had abandoned a grieving woman who could not come to terms with the loss of her child, just when she may have needed him most. And he had just witnessed Chris's unchanged loyalty.

_It's not too late. Mac said so. That's why he gave me this chance. If I could forgive him, I can forgive Chris, and ask Chris and Bolly to forgive me._

He was so deep in thoughtthat he barely noticed their final port of call, a Christmas party on an ocean-going liner just leaving Southampton, before he and Nelson stood in a dark, open space illuminated only by the occasional ray of moonlight.

"Blimey, not much of a party going on 'ere, is there?"

"Not much," Nelson agreed.

"So why are we 'ere?"

"It's nearly midnight. I've got to leave you here to rendezvous with Number Three."

"What, not back at my office?"

"No, sorry about that. Orders."

"Now, come on, Nelson, you are _not_ going to park me miles from anywhere with no way of getting 'ome - "

Midnight began to strike. Nelson grasped his hand. "Time's up, Mr Hunt. Got to go. Goodbye and good luck, mon brave. Remember, if ever you're back in Manchester, there'll be a pint waiting for you on the bar at the Railway Arms." He turned and walked away.

"_NELSON! _Come back!"

Nelson turned back once, waving his farewell. Then, like Sam before him, he was swallowed up by the darkness as the last chime sounded.

Gene sensed that he was not alone. He turned and stared into the darkness, and his straining eyes made out what looked like a billowing robe slowly drifting towards him - _or maybe a shroud? _His blood ran cold. _Get a grip on yourself, Hunt._ As the drifting mass came nearer, it solidified into the figure of a tall, spare man, who wore a black overcoat which swirled about him. A shaft of moonlight illuminated the face as he approached.

"Good evening, Mr Hunt. My name is Martin Summers."

**TBC**


	4. Stave IV: Christmas Yet To Come

**Disclaimer: BBC, Monastic and Kudos own Ashes to Ashes. Charles Dickens wrote A Christmas Carol. But I wouldn't mind being given Gene for Christmas!**

**Thank you yet again to everyone who's reading, faveing, alerting, and (especially) reviewing this story. As promised, here is Stave IV, just in time for Christmas. I'm afraid there will be a short wait for Stave V as I haven't finished writing it yet, and it's going (by my standards) to be rather long.**

**In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this stave. If you have time to review amid the festivities, it would, as always, be ever so much appreciated.**

**A merry Christmas to all my readers!**

"_You!_" Gene snarled. "We've found out a lot about you since I saw you last, you bastard."

"I am aware of that," said the shade gravely. It had a harsh Irish accent which Gene remembered too well.

"The investigating team searched your flat an' found your diary an' all your papers. Another one who's as daft as a brush salesman's sample case. Just like Drake, going on about this world not being real. Said you'd survived a successful suicide attempt." Gene shook his head in disgust. "Why do I always attract the liars an' weirdos? We know you'd been stalking Drake an' tried to kill 'er, you drove 'er an' me apart, you corrupted Chris, you were behind Operation Rose, you killed PC Summers an' Drake said you tried to frame 'er. _Why?_"

"Let us just say that every man has his reasons."

"What, for destroying other people's lives?"

"You can stop questioning me. This isn't the Fenchurch East interview room, you know."

"I wish I 'ad you there right now, mate, with the door locked, the tape recorder switched off, an' nobody to 'ear your screams."

"If I stopped to explain myself to you, we would be here all night, and I have much to show you."

"So. You're the one from Hell?"

"That is correct."

"Can't say I'm surprised," Gene snapped. "So why did Mac think I'd want to do time with you, of all people?"

"You have pardoned one man whose actions sent him to Hell. Two nights since, you gave him a hearing. I do not ask for pardon, only for the hearing. Who knows but that it may ultimately do good to him and to me, as well as to you?"

Gene had only just been thinking largely on forgiveness. Whether Summers would ever deserve it was something he was not yet ready to consider. _All the same..._ This was the third part of his journey, and he was not prepared to give it up now, any more than he would ever give up on a case before it was solved. Besides, if he walked away, he had no idea where he was and no way of getting back home. _Probably that's why Mac told Nelson to park me here._

"All right," he said reluctantly. "Mac sent you, just like 'e sent Sam an' Nelson, an' I'll take the ride wi' you for them. Now you can tell me why you're 'ere."

"My assignment tonight is to show you what will happen at Christmas next year."

"How come _you_ know about the future?" Gene sneered.

Summers smiled. "Oh, I can claim to have first hand experience."

Suddenly they were standing outside Gene's house at night. A brief glance showed that it was dark and empty. A "For Sale" sign stood by the gate.

Gene shrugged. "So, I've moved house. Never liked the place much anyway." A sudden spark of hope kindled within him. _Does this mean that I've moved in with Bolly?_ But he was damned if he would ask that question of Summers, of all people. He would have have to wait and find out.

"Let's see how your colleagues are keeping Christmas."

They were standing in Luigi's. As before, the place was bright with Christmas decorations. CID sat at their usual tables, eating and drinking, but Gene could sense that the atmosphere of gaiety was forced. He scanned the assembled company, and was shocked to find that he was not there. Nor was Alex.

"Hang on, where am I?"

"You have - transferred."

"_What!_" Gene was appalled. "Left Fenchurch? Abandoned the team?"

"I'm afraid so."

"What about Drake? Has she gone with me?"

"No, no, she's here, she's just not - here."

Gene silently resolved that if the man did not stop talking in riddles, he would personally remove every tooth from his head, one by one. He was about to grab Summers by the lapels and announce his intention in the most colourful language at his command, when Jim Keats arose from his seat at one end of the tables and tinkled his fork on a glass to gain attention. Silence fell, and the team turned towards him. Apathy was etched into every face.

"Ladies - " he hesitated as he scanned the faces before him, and recommenced, "_Lady_ and gentlemen, I want to take this opportunity to thank you for all your help and support since I became your DCI."

"_WHAT!!!" _Gene bellowed. Naturally, the only person to hear him was Summers, who motioned him to be silent as Keats continued, "I know this has been a hard year for us all. But I'm confident that we'll put that behind us now and move on to a brighter future. Policing is changing, and we must change with it. I know that we can adapt and move with the times, and that with you behind me, Fenchurch East will become one of the most progressive stations in the Metropolitan Police. A place where anyone would be proud to work, just as I am proud of all of you. Thank you."

There was a wretched smattering of applause, and Keats sat down. The undertow of conversation began again, and Gene went off like a land mine.

"_Keats_, DCI? That smooth, smarmy, creepy, lily-livered, form-filling, self-serving, time-pleasing, fault-finding, pen-pushing little _poof_? Do you mean to say that I've buggered off and abandoned my team to _his_ tender mercies? Over my dead body!"

Summers spread his hands wide. "An emergency appointment following your departure. The man's an eejit, but he's doing well enough. But, as you see, the team aren't behind him. In their hearts, they're still loyal to you."

As he spoke, Keats had arisen from his place and walked down to the other end of the table, where Chris and Shaz sat. Both wore black. Chris looked older than his years, and Shaz, her pretty face so swollen with constant crying that it was almost unrecognisable, was leaning her head on his shoulder as though he were the only thing keeping her upright, and his arm around her the only thing sustaining her. Gene and Summers drew near as Keats began speaking to them.

"It's good of you both to come," he said gently. "I know how hard it must be for you."

"That's all right, Sir," said Chris sadly. "You've been very kind to us, and we appreciate it. But we won't stay long, if you don't mind."

"Of course not."

Shaz raised her head, as though that simple action were the greatest effort in the world. "She never even had a birthday," she wailed."She only had the one Christmas, and Chris wasn't even with her for tha - a - at!" She burst into tears, sobbing on a descending scale, over and over, which cut Gene to the heart. Chris tightened his arm around her and stroked her hair, but he did not try to comfort her. There was no comfort to give.

"What's all this?" Gene demanded of Summers. "Where's Tammy?"

"She died last September," said Summers gravely. "Cot death. Poor child. Her parents are devastated, as you see."

Gene's heart seemed to stop for a moment. "Oh, God, no," he whispered. "No. Not that."

"Why should you care?" Summers replied sharply. "As Chris doesn't have a kid, he won't make any trouble about coming in on Christmas Day."

Gene recoiled from his own words, flung back at him by that harsh voice, as though he had been struck by a bullet.

"I didn't mean it like that..." he muttered shamefacedly.

"Oh? What _did_ you mean, then?" said Summers, with genuine interest.

While Gene was casting around in his mind for a reply, Keats moved back down the table to speak to Ray. "Carling, where's DI Drake?"

"She's upstairs in her flat, Sir." Ray's voice was respectful, but held no warmth. "I knocked at her door and told her that we're all down here, but she said that she wants to stay where she is."

_So that's what Summers meant by here, but not here._

"She should be here with her colleagues." Keats sounded faintly irritated. "If the Skeltons can make the effort, so can she."

"I wouldn't if I were you, Sir," said Ray, but Keats had already moved away and was heading towards the staircase to Alex's flat. Summers touched Gene's arm, making him shudder, and suddenly they were in Alex's living room. She was sitting on the sofa, staring at the television without taking anything in. She looked utterly drained, as though she no longer had any interest in life or any desire to live. Gene felt his heart breaking again as he looked at her. _Tammy's death must have brought her daughter's death back all over again. _

There was a knock at the door. She rose, walked listlessly to the door, and opened it.

"Jim. Come in." Her voice was as flat and devoid of interest as a stagnant pool.

Keats followed her into the living room and sat on the sofa beside her. Gene bristled. _That's where I used to sit with her, before we quarrelled. How _dare _he sit in my place? _

_But then he's got my office now. My job. My place. Why have I left? Where did I go?_

"Wine?" Alex pointed to the open bottle on the table. Gene noticed that no more than a glassful had been poured from it. _As though she doesn't even have enough interest in life to get drunk._

Keats smiled. "No, thanks. I can't stay long." He lowered his voice. "I'm sorry to see you like this, Alex."

She tried to smile, and failed dismally. "Sorry. I'm not good company at the moment. It's hard, this time of year. It's always hard."

"I know," said Keats sympathetically. "Just remember, you're not alone."

Alex sighed impatiently. "I know, I know, I'm being ungrateful."

"I didn't say that, and that wasn't what I meant." Keats' tone conveyed gentle reproach. "Why don't you come downstairs and join us, just for a few minutes? You know you'd be welcome."

"Not only that, it would strengthen his authority with the team no end, if she's seen to be backing him up," Summers muttered cynically to the seething Gene, who nodded.

"The Skeltons are there," Keats went on. "They'd be glad to see you."

"Chris and Shaz?" For the first time, there was a glimmer of life of warmth in her voice and her eyes. "That's brave of them. God knows, it's even harder for them than it is for me. But at least they still have each other. I don't have anyone."

"That's not true." Keats still sounded reproachful. "You're surrounded by colleagues who are your friends too. We all love you."

"I know." Once again, Alex lost that tiny spark of animation. "But I've lost the two people I loved most, my daughter and Gene, and nothing can make up for that."

"_EH?" _Gene gasped.

Alex wiped her eyes. "My daughter - I've given up hope of ever seeing her again in this world, but I still hope that I may find her in another place, another time. I know I'll never see Gene again."

"No, Bols, no," Gene said desperately. "Now I know 'ow you feel, I'll come back from wherever I've buggered off to, an' I'll say sorry. We'll make it up. Don't cry, love, it'll be okay."

"It was all my fault," Alex went on. "If only I hadn't rejected him so completely when he tried to apologise. After that we were both too proud to try to make peace, and things just got worse and worse. I keep telling myself that I should have tried harder to stop him leaving that day."

"You mustn't blame yourself," said Keats gently. "If Hunt was going to do something, _nothing_ would have stopped him. Do you really think he'd have listened to you?"

Alex shook her head woefully. "No. He wasn't listening to anyone, by then."

"It wasn't your fault," said Keats firmly.

Alex stared at nothing. "I never even told him that I loved him. If I had, maybe he wouldn't have left."

"Your devotion does you credit. I only wish it had a worthier object."

Alex looked as though she was about to flare up, then subsided. "I can't expect you to understand." She shook her head. "You only knew the embittered bastard he became after Operation Rose. I knew the good, kind, decent, brave, honest, loyal, noble-hearted man he was before then. The man I loved. Will always love. My matchless Lion."

Gene held out his arms to her, and stopped, frustrated, as he remembered that she could not see him.

"I'm sorry," Keats said quietly. "I didn't intend to make it worse for you."

"I know."

"Come downstairs with me. We all want you with us."

"Remember what I said when you offered me dinner on Christmas Eve, last year? It's awfully kind of you, but no, thanks."

"It's Christmas," Keats persisted. "A time for new beginnings. You have to come back to life at some time. Why not try making the first step now? It would help Chris and Shaz so much, if you were join us."

Alex scrubbed her eyes. "All right. For them." Her voice was almost inaudible. "But not for long."

"Brave girl." Keats' voice was warm with approval and encouragement. They stood, and she dragged off the shapeless jumper she was wearing and put on her long cardigan. _The one she was wearing when we bugged Mac's office._

"Thanks, Jim," she said gruffly. "You're such a help. Always there."

"All part of the service." He opened the door and offered her his arm, and she took it. He smiled encouragingly. "Remember, the first step is the hardest." They went out together, and the door closed behind them.

Gene stared after them in shocked disbelief. "She's gone off with 'im! With that smoothie bastard!" He looked at Summers, almost pleadingly. "But it'll be all right. I'll come back to 'er, an' we'll make it up. I'll be in time to stop 'im getting 'er, won't I? Won't I?"

Summers opened his mouth to speak, changed his mind, and said something else. "Let's see how you're getting on in your new home."

They were walking along a dark road, late at night, with a wall running beside them, beyond which appeared to be parkland. It was bitterly cold. Summers turned his coat collar up, and Gene, wearing only his suit, felt perished. He wished that he had brought his overcoat along on this trip.

"Bloody 'ell, 'aven't exactly moved upmarket, 'ave I?"

"No," Summers replied shortly. They stopped by a gate. "This way."

"Short cut?"

"You could say that."

They passed through the gate and found themselves in a cemetery. Summers led the way, and, to Gene's consternation, did not keep to the path, but strode unerringly ahead between the neat lines of gravestones until he halted before one neatly kept plot with a very new marble headstone.

"Here we are."

"Eh?"

Summers pointed to the stone. A shaft of moonlight illuminated it, and Gene read the inscription.

_DETECTIVE CHIEF INSPECTOR GENE HUNT_

_10 FEBRUARY 1946 - 17 OCTOBER 1984_

_"The wicked flee when no man pursueth, but the righteous are bold as a_ _lion" - Proverbs 28:1_

"No!" he whispered. "_No!_"

"But yes," said Summers, behind him.

Gene turned to him. "But you said I'd transferred."

"So you have. This is your final, _permanent_ transfer." Gene stared at him, aghast, as he continued, "In the months following last Christmas, you pursued your detached and solitary way, growing more and more isolated and suspicious of everyone around you. You became convinced that all the members of your loyal team were trying to bring you down. Drake, whom you believed had lied to you; Skelton, who had betrayed you; even Carling, who is a Mason and who was once responsible for a death in custody. In October, during a murder investigation, you received a tip-off that an eyewitness had information, but was too afraid to come to the station to speak to you. You were given a place and time to meet them, late at night in a lonely side street. Drake and Carling were convinced that it was a trap, and begged you not to go, or at least to let one or both of them come with you to watch your back. Skelton was on compassionate leave then, following the death of his child. But you refused to listen to anyone. Why should you? Traitors, one and all. So you didn't tell anyone the time or place for the meeting, and you gave them all the slip to make sure that none of them could follow you.

"But they were right. It _was_ a trap. The message had been sent to you by a member of John Carnegie's former team, who was out for revenge on the man who had brought his Guv down. You sat waiting in your car, at the appointed place, smoking a cigarette while you waited for your informant to arrive. He came up to the window on your side, drew his gun, and shot you at point blank range. Drake and Carling found your body hours later. They had been searching desperately for you all night."

"_No..._" Appalled and fascinated, Gene reached out to run his fingers over the lettering on the stone, feeling the fresh, sharp carving beneath his fingers.

Summers spread his hands wide and shrugged. "You've seen the effect of your death upon all those around you. Your team is desolate, Keats is DCI - as you said, over your dead body - and Alex is heartbroken. Of course she blames herself for not having been able to stop you, the day you went to your death. But Keats is right for once. Nobody could have stopped you, not even her. _Especially_ not her. She chose your epitaph." He stooped, picked up a bunch of flowers which lay on the grave, and showed Gene the card attached to them.

_For my Gene. This is the only Christmas present I can give you this year. I gave you my heart long ago. Forgive me for never telling you._

_Alex._

Gene sank to his knees, his face buried in his hands. "Oh, God."

Summers stood over him triumphantly. "Remember what Mackintosh told you? _Loneliness is one of form of Hell. Knowing the harm you have done to those who love you, when it is too late to make amends, is another._ You left it too late to escape Hell. Your world, Mr Hunt - and welcome to it."

He turned to go, but Gene scrambled to his feet and seized his arm. "No! No, you Irish creep, you are bloody well _not_ going off an' leaving me like this!"

Summers glanced down coolly at Gene's hand on his arm, then up at his face. "Pardon?"

"Why show me all this, if I'm going to die anyway? Tell me it's not too late."

"Why should I?"

"Sam came from Heaven, an' he said, whether I see 'im again, depends on what I do now. He said, _I have a hope of being able to change the man I will be_. Mac an' Nelson both said, _While a man still lives, it is never too late to change his course. _I'm still alive. This is Christmas 1983. You told me, you're showing me _next_ Christmas. But this is what'll 'appen if I don't change. I _have _changed."

Summers regarded him superciliously. "Have you?"

"Yeah. I'll let Chris 'ave the day off to spend Christmas with Shaz an' Tammy. I'll let 'im 'ave all the time off 'e wants, to be with 'em. I'll stop punishing 'im, an' I'll treat 'im right from now on." His voice dropped lower. "I'll tell Bolly I've been a bastard, an' I'll ask 'er to forgive me. I'll trust the team, because I'll know they trust me. I'll make sure everyone I know has a merry Christmas, an' I'll do everything I can to make it like Christmas for 'em, all year round!" He gripped Summers' arm tighter. Desperation increased his strength. " So, tell me it's not too late."

Summers looked down at Gene's hand on his arm, and threw him off with surprising force. "Enjoy your new home, Mr Hunt."

Caught unawares, Gene staggered backwards and tumbled into the open grave as it yawned open behind him. He was falling, down, down, down...

_"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"_

**TBC**


	5. Stave V: The End of it

**Disclaimer: I don't own Ashes to Ashes and I don't own A Christmas Carol!**

**Thank you so much to everyone who took the time over Christmas to read, alert, fave and review Stave IV. Sorry about the short delay, I haven't had much time for writing over the Christmas weekend and have only just finished this final Stave. In some mitigation, it's the longest chapter I've ever written!**

**As the PM system is somewhat erratic this week, I hope I manage to post this at a time when those of you with alerts, will receive them. Apologies if I don't.**

**As always, any reviews and feedback would be most gratefully received.**

**NB: I've made a small amendment, after Katie Duggan's Niece reminded me that I had inadvertantly left out an important sentence.  
**

**A happy, healthy, wealthy, Ashy 2010 to all my readers!**

Still screaming, he hit the ground with a thump.

"Guv? Are you all right?"

The voice was familiar. He opened his eyes and sat up.

"Viv? What the bloody 'ell are you doing 'ere?"

Viv was bending over him, consternation in his face. "I'm just going off my shift, Sir. I heard you calling out, and came in to see what was wrong. You must have fallen off your chair. You were asleep when I last looked in, an hour ago."

Gene looked around him as Viv helped him to stand. _My office. I've been sent back. _"Viv - I know this is going to sound a bloody stupid question, but what day is it?"

Viv looked at him rather oddly. "Today, sir? Why, Christmas Day."

Gene closed his eyes for a moment. "They've done it. They've sent me back in time to 'ave another chance. It should 'ave been three nights, an' they did it in one. Mac, Sam, Nelson, even bloody Summers - they all did it." A huge smile spread across his face, and it felt as though it would never go away. He didn't want it to.

"Sir?" Gene opened his eyes to see Viv looking at him, more oddly than ever.

"Never you mind, Viv. You just trot off an' have a merry Christmas. Got relatives coming, 'aven't you? You'll need time to get the 'ouse ready for 'em."

Viv frowned. "That's right, Sir, but how did you know?" He had mentioned it to some of his colleagues, but he _knew_ that the Guv hadn't been paying any attention to the Christmas gossip.

"Nothing stays secret in this place for very long." Gene winked and tapped the side of his nose. "Off you go, Viv, an' a merry Christmas to you an' your wife an' kiddies an' all your visitors. A merry Christmas to everyone!"

"Er - yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir." Viv backed out of the office, looking nervous. Gene sat at his desk and tried to get his thoughts in order.

_I've been given another chance, but what do I have to do to make sure I change the future Summers showed me?_

"Bloody 'ell! Chris!" He glanced at his watch. It was just gone 7.30. _Got to stop him coming in._ He picked up the phone and dialled Chris's number. After a short wait, Shaz answered.

"Morning, Shaz. It's the Guv. Merry Christmas."

"Oh." Shaz's voice was cold enough to sink the _Titanic_. "_Good_ morning, _Sir_."

"I 'ope I didn't wake you up?"

"No, Sir, I had to get up to feed Tammy, and I've got Christmas dinner to cook."

"Good. Well, you can tell Chris, I've changed my mind. I don't want 'im to come in today."

"Sir?"

"Yeah, that's right, Shaz. He can 'ave the day off to spend Christmas with you an' Tammy, an' 'e can stay off till after the New Year. Don't want to see 'im around 'ere till January 3rd. That's an order. I want the three of you to 'ave a merry Christmas."

"Oh." Shaz sounded quited dazed with fatigue and shock. "Er - thank you, Sir." A howl rent the air. "Sorry, Sir, I've got to go and see to Tammy."

"You do that, Shaz, you do that, an' remember to tell Chris."

"I will, Sir. Goodbye." She hung up, and Gene put his phone down. _That's number one done. Number two - Shit, it's Christmas Day. Everywhere'll be shut. Or will it? Maybe not._

_Bolly. Bolly'll know._

Without stopping to think whether it would be sensible to disturb her at this hour, he grabbed his coat, raced out of the station, and tore across the road to Luigi's.

Alex was eating a solitary breakfast, looking around her flat with mournful eyes. She had decorated it, and done her best to make it look bright and Christmassy, but she knew that there was no feeling of Christmas in her heart. It was always at this time of the year that she missed Molly most, and now she didn't even have Gene's friendship to console her.

_If only I hadn't pushed him away last Christmas, maybe this Christmas would have been different._

_Get a grip, Drake. No point in wasting any time or thought on him. _

_But with all the men I have to choose from in this time, why do I have to keep wishing for better things from a man who's putting all his energy into being Grade A Plus Bastard of the Year? _

Her reverie was shattered by a fusillade of knocking at her door.

"If that's you, Scrooge Hunt, you can piss off!" she shouted. "I'm not due at work for more than an hour!"

"I know you aren't, Bols," he called from outside the door. "Please, let me in. Need to ask you something. It's important."

Alex was tempted to tell him to go and eat holly for breakfast, but she knew that if she didn't let him in, he was quite capable of standing outside and shouting for the next half hour, and she had the neighbours to consider. Besides, he had called her _Bols_. He hadn't done that in over a year, since that terrible day in the hospital. _It's always been Drake or Inspector since then._

She flung the door open. "It had _better _be important for you to be disturbing me this early on Christmas Day, you bastard. Have you any idea of the time?"

He feasted his eyes upon her, still wearing her dressing gown and pyjamas, no makeup, her hair all mussed, her face flushed with good, honest rage. He thought that she had never looked so beautiful.

"Yeah, sorry about that, Bols. Need your help. Something you might be able to tell me, an' I don't know who else to ask."

His hair was tousled and he hadn't shaved. His suit looked as though he had slept in it. But his smile lit up the room, and his eyes were bright and clear, as they had not been since before Operation Rose. His face seemed lighter somehow, suffused with hope and happiness, but she could sense his trepidation. His uncertainty.

_The Manc Lion, uncertain? Smiling? What the hell's got into him?_

She stepped aside. "Well, you'd better come in." He walked in, and she shut the door. "So, what's so important that you've got to ask me at this hour of Christmas morning?"

"Do you know if any toy shops are open today?"

She could not have been more astonished if he had said that he was joining Alcoholics Anonymous. "_What?_"

Gene had the grace to look embarrassed. "Need to know if any toy shops are open today."

"Why the hell do you need to know that?"

"You were right with what you said yesterday, Bols. It's a time for new beginnings. I know I've treated Chris badly this past year, an' I want to make up for it. I've given 'im the day off. I've given 'im the whole week off. Want 'im an' Shaz an' the kid to 'ave a merry Christmas. Want to get something for the kid to show 'em I'm sorry. But I don't know where to get anything today."

"Have you been drinking?" said Alex suspiciously.

"No. Sober as a judge. Not even a judge on circuit. Help me, Bols."

It was that plea which finally convinced her that he was in earnest, even though she was beginning to doubt her own sanity. _Gene, asking me, asking _anyone_, to help him?_ He looked so desperately eager and vulnerable that she had to believe him.

"Let me get this straight. You - the Manc Lion, the Gene Genie, the armed bastard, the twentieth century Scrooge - you want to buy toys for a six-week-old child?"

He nodded vigorously. "Yeah."

She considered. "Well..." _This is 1984. In 2008 there might just be the odd place open, even if it's only a tobacconist or convenience shop with a few toys, but in this time..._ "I'm afraid you're very unlikely to find anything open today." Gene's shoulders sagged with disappointment, and she took pity on him. "Wait here a moment, and I'll see what I can do for you. Help yourself to coffee, if it isn't too stewed."

She disappeared into the bedroom and emerged a few seconds later, holding in her arms a large teddy bear with an amiable expression, wrapped in a cellophane bag tied with a ribbon bow. "Will this do?"

"Er..." Gene jibbed visibly, and she could almost hear his thought processes. _What'll it do to my reputation, if I turn up with this?_ But he pulled himself together masterfully and assumed a pleased expression. "Thanks, Bols, that's great. But what'll you give 'er, if I've got this?"

"That's all right. I've bought her a doll, a rattle and a mobile for her cot, and I've knitted her some mittens, so I can easily spare the bear to you if you'd like him."

Gene shuddered inwardly at the thought of giving Tammy any of the other items Alex had mentioned. He looked at the bear again. Suddenly it didn't seem so bad. "'He'll do fine. Thanks. So long as you're sure."

"Absolutely. He's all yours." She dumped the teddy in Gene's arms. Manc Lion and Daddy Bear exchanged glances. _Definitely not too bad._

"So what are you giving Chris and Shaz?" Alex's voice broke across his thoughts. He shifted uneasily.

"Er - "

"Haven't quite got this Santa lark yet, have you?" Alex laughed gently. "You can hardly give Tammy a present without giving them something, too."

_"Shit_."

Alex thought for a moment. "I've got a _very_ good bottle of wine which Luigi gave me before he left. You could give that to Chris. And for Shaz - " She vanished into the bedroom again, and he heard her rummaging in a dressing table drawer. A few seconds later she returned with a pretty scarf. "I bought this months ago, but I've never worn it. It doesn't go with anything I have. Would you like it for Shaz?"

Gene felt a bit dazed by the speed of events. "Ta, Bols, that'd be great. But won't you let me pay you for 'em?"

"Absolutely not," Alex said firmly. "It's worth it to see you showing a bit of Christmas spirit."

"At least let me give you dinner tonight?" he said hopefully.

_He's got a nerve, after the last thirteen months,_ the left hand side of Alex's brain told her sternly. _You've wanted this to happen for even longer_, the right hand side answered. _God knows why he's making such an effort suddenly, but you should do all you can to encourage it. Make the most of it while it lasts. _Then reality descended.

"Oh, Gene, I'm sorry, but I've already promised to have dinner with Chris and Shaz, after work."

He hid his disappointment as well as he could. _At least it's not that tosser Keats._ Thanks to Nelson, he knew that Evan White would be fully occupied with little Alex today."I'll drive you over there. I can deliver our furry friend 'ere at the same time, an' the wine an' the scarf. You can ring me when you're ready to leave, an' I'll come an' collect you. If you're still 'ungry then, maybe I could take you somewhere. Perhaps for a drink."

"Thank you, Gene. I'll accept on one condition."

"What's that?" Suddenly he was wary.

"That you tell me what's got into you today."

_Now for the tricky bit._ Because it was the most important thing to say, and he dreaded getting it wrong, he had been trying to dodge it. He put the bear down, swallowed hard, and looked at the floor, just he had done the first time he had asked her out to dinner.

"I - I know I've been a bastard to you this past year, Bols. To everyone, but to you an' Chris specially. This is me saying sorry to you, to 'im, to everyone, but most of all to you, because I 'urt you most. Sorry for this year, an' - an' for before that. It's all been my fault. You were right with what you said yesterday. It's a time for new beginnings. Want to say sorry an' start again. Will you let me, Bols?"

Alex's face softened. "You tried to say sorry a year ago and I wouldn't let you. I was a total bitch then. It's my fault too. Let's scrub the last year and start over." She held out her hand to him. He looked at it for a moment, unable to believe that she could accept him again, and then grasped it firmly. She tried not to tremble at his touch.

"Thanks, Bols. Thanks." She had not thought that he could blush so much.

She smiled. "See you in the office in about an hour, then."

"Yeah." He released the hand and glanced at the bear and scarf on the coffee table. "Could you - er - "

She understood. "Shall I take care of them for now? I bet you haven't got any wrapping paper, so I'll wrap the bottle and the scarf for you. I'll have to come back here to change before going to Chris and Shaz, and you can collect them then."

"Yeah. Ta. That'll be great. I'll, er, I'll get over to the office an' give you a chance to get ready. See you soon, Bolly."

He backed out of the flat and raced down the stairs. Watching out of the window, Alex could have sworn that she saw him _dancing_ across the road. Shaking her head in bewilderment, she went to get dressed.

Gene thought that he might never speak steadily again. _Nelson was right. I apologised again, and this time she's accepted. _Vistas of the future arose before his dazzled eyes, but he firmly pushed them away. He still had a lot to do yet to get today right.

Thanking his stars that he always kept a razor and a spare suit and shirt in his cupboard, he changed, shaved, and then headed for the records room. _Chris hid the box of Christmas decorations there, after I said I'd burn the lot if I saw them again._ He soon located the box, carried it up to the office, and inspected the contents. Sadly, there were no paper chains, but there were several long foil swags, a huge amount of tinsel, a small Christmas tree complete with decorations, and even a tiny crib set. He helped himself to a roll of sellotape and a packet of Blutack from the stationery cupboard, and set to work. Forty-five minutes later the office was transformed. He looked around it, well pleased with himself, and glanced at his watch. The rest of the team would be arriving any moment - he could hardly expect anyone to turn up a minute before they had to, on this day of all days. _Anything else I have to do before then? Ah, yes..._ The canteen was closed for the day, but he helped himself to the spare key from Viv's desk, raided the larder for every mince pie they possesed, left £10 on the counter in payment with a short note of explanation, and proudly bore a loaded tray back to CID. On the off chance, he checked in the kitchen, but as he expected, Nelson had not left the punch bowl behind. He still could not make out how much of what he had experienced was real, and how much a dream. He heaved a sigh, went to his desk, and got out a treasured bottle of single malt. _Bloody hell, this Christmas lark involves you in some self-sacrifice. But it'll be worth it if I can get today right._

A few moments later, Poirot and Terry walked through the swing doors. The sight that met their eyes nearly robbed them of speech. The office was covered in Christmas decorations and in the centre of the room stood the Guv, a huge smile plastered across his face, holding out glasses of whisky to them both.

"Merry Christmas, lads! Come in an' 'ave a drink an' a mince pie!"

-oO0Oo-

It continued like that all day. The skeleton staff who had drawn the short straw to be on duty on Christmas Day didn't know what to make of it. He overheard Poirot muttering on the phone, "I'm telling you, Ray, we came in and found he'd decorated the office and was offering us _mince pies and whisky_ - yes, his single malt - and he won't stop smiling! Bloody unnerving…" Poirot started guiltily and shrank away when he saw that the Guv was listening, but Gene just laughed and strolled into his office. He knew that it would take time for them to get used to the change in him. Only Alex watched him with glowing, approving eyes. He had set up the little crib on her desk. He hoped that she would like that.

Halfway through the morning, uniform hauled in a blagger dressed as Santa Claus who had foolishly thought that if he robbed a locked-up shop in the City, there would be nobody around today to catch him or to penetrate his cunning disguise. Gene took one look at the hapless miscreant's attire, ripped off the false beard, and slammed him against the nearest wall.

"Bernie North! Been wanting a word wi' you, my little Scouse tosser. You _dare_ to pollute the glorious name of Christmas? D'you realise kiddies could 'ave seen you dressed like that? Could 'ave given 'em nightmares an' ruined their trust in Santa forever, seein' 'im breakin' into a jewellers - "

He hauled Bernie into Interview Room 1 by the scruff of his fur-trimmed scarlet coat, and CID exchanged relieved glances. The Guv might have changed in ways they would never understand, but beneath he was still just the same.

-oO0Oo-

The rest of the day was quiet, and Gene chivvied everyone home an hour early, at 4.00. Passing Alex's desk as she shrugged into her jacket, he murmured, "How long d'you need before I come an' collect you, Bols?"

"Give me ten minutes." He nodded, and she slipped out of the door. _Her ten minutes to get changed will be more like twenty._

_Just a sec - when Nelson showed me what would happen today, she left work with Chris an hour after this, and she didn't stop to change. _

_She says everything is significant. I've already broken the pattern. If we arrive there at a different time, and I make sure she isn't left alone after that, maybe I can save her from seeing her daughter's ghost. Stop that spoiling her Christmas._

When he was alone in the office, he put on his coat, unlocked his desk, took a small item from the top drawer, and stowed it into his inside breast pocket. Then he got out his remaining bottle of single malt and left it on the desk with a single glass.

"Just in case you want to come back for more tonight, Mac," he said softly. "Thanks, mate."

-oO0Oo-

A few minutes later, he was knocking at Alex's front door. She answered it, wearing the black ensemble which he remembered well from their date, the night before the Price bomb. His heart constricted at the memory. She looked unbearably gorgeous.

"Um, all ready to go, then, Bols?"

"Nearly. Come in."

She ushered him through to the living room. The coffee table was laden with gift wrapped parcels. She vanished into the bedroom and returned almost immediately, having added a necklace and earrings to her attire.

"Just before we go, Bols - " He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a long, thin, blue velvet box, which he placed in her hands. "Merry Christmas. Sorry I didn't 'ave any wrapping paper in my office, 'cept old arrest forms."

"Don't worry about that, Gene. It's the thought that counts." She opened it. Nestling inside was a chain bracelet festooned with a multitude of charms, all beautifully worked in pure silver. She gave a little cry of delight as she examined each one and appreciated its significance. A policeman's helmet, truncheon, whistle, and handcuffs. A gun, exactly like the one Gene carried. A tiny car, enamelled bright red, whose wheels turned around when she ran her finger beneath it. A lion, one paw upraised. A bottle, with _BOLLINGER_ incised in miniscule letters across the label. An Aladdin's lamp puzzled her until, excited as a schoolboy, he showed her how to press a minute spring which released the lid to reveal a Genie nestling inside.

"What's this?" She pointed to a round charm shaped like a cake.

He grinned. "Fruitcake."

"Ah, I see. And this?" Her fingernail brushed a gleaming silver heart in the centre of the chain.

He looked at the floor. "Er, I thought that one looked good in the middle there, an' - an' - "

"Yes?" she said interestedly.

"Well - you remember what you did, in the records room, the day you joined the team - "

She smiled. "Of course I do." She slipped her hand beneath his coat and jacket, laying her palm against his chest as she had done that day, feeling again the warm, strong life pounding beneath her hand, feeling, this time, how his heart quickened its beating at her touch. For a moment they were both mesmerised, then, reluctantly, she drew her hand away. "Thank you so much, Gene, it's beautiful. But how - ?"

She let the unspoken question hang in the air. _How did you have this for me, when you hate Christmas and we've been fighting for a year?_

"Remember John Fraser, the silversmith in Leather Lane? His shop was blagged, but we got most of 'is stock back for 'im when we arrested Benny Moon. Saved 'is business. I went to 'im an' told 'im what I wanted, an' 'e made it up for me. Had to make some of 'em specially," he added, pointing to the gun, car and bottle. He looked at the ground again. "Meant to give it to you last Christmas. I got it in October last year, before - before all the mess. It's been in my desk ever since. Didn't know if I'd ever 'ave a chance to give it to you, but it looked to me like today's the right time."

She smiled warmly. "It is. Thank you so much. I can't say how much I appreciate it. Not just because it's lovely, but because I know how much care and thought has gone into it."

He blushed and shuffled his feet. "Think nothing of it, Bols."

"I think a great deal of it, believe me." She took the bracelet from its box. "Will you help me put it on?"

Her voice was loaded with meaning, and he understood how her words were an echo of his plea for help that morning. It took an effort of will to keep his hands from shaking as he fiddled with the clasp, and the touch of his fingers against her wrist was a torture for them both, but at last it was fastened, and he pulled away as though he had been burnt. She twirled her wrist appreciatively. "Thank you."

"Should we getting along to Chris an' Shaz now?"

"In a minute." She picked up a gift wrapped box, about eight inches cubed, from beneath the coffee table. "Merry Christmas, Gene. Careful, it's heavy."

"No need to worry about that, I'm a big, strong boy, you know - bloody 'ell, you're right!"

The box was unexpectedly weighty for its size, and he lowered it onto a spare corner of the coffee table to open it. He removed the paper to reveal a corrugated cardboard box, which when he opened it appeared to be full of crumpled newspapers. He felt carefully among them and drew out a bronze figurine of a lion, standing on a rock, with a luxuriant tree towering behind him. The artist had captured all the majesty, nobility and courage of the solitary beast. The whole composition was no more than four inches high.

_My matchless Lion._ He looked at the small, perfect thing in his hands, then up at her, aware that he was grinning helplessly. "King of the Jungle. Thanks, Bolly, he's great. Couldn't think of anything so - so _right_. But 'ow - ?"

It was the echo of her own question. "I found him in Camden Passage. The backstamp says he's Austrian. Victorian, I should think, but the shop lady wouldn't commit to a date. He's a bookend, believe it or not. Lord knows where the other one is, if it still exists. I got him last year, before - " It was her turn to look at the ground. "Before. I kept telling myself that I should take him back to the shop, but I couldn't abandon him, couldn't abandon - " She could not go on for a moment, but he nodded his understanding. There was more than one lion whom she could not abandon. "Looked so lonely." She did not say which lion she meant.

"Stands to reason," he said carefully. "Meant to be one of a pair." The air hummed with ambiguity. For a moment both were silent, then Alex broke the spell.

"We've got all these presents to take in the car. He'd be safer here. Would you like to leave him here until after we get back from Chris and Shaz?"

"Yeah, sure. Thanks, Bols. He's great." Gene's heart leapt at the knowledge that he would have an excuse to come back to the flat. "Right, let's fire up the Quattro."

-oO0Oo-

Gene nearly turned tail and fled when they reached Chris's front door, but Alex stopped him.

"Come on, you Cowardly Lion, you." She rang the doorbell. "I know sorry is the hardest thing to say. It's taken both of us over a year to say it. But you owe it to him."

"I know." Gene muttered, skulking several paces from the door. Chris opened it, and saw only what he had expected to see - Alex standing there with her arms full of parcels.

"Boss! Merry Christmas! Come in, Shaz is waiting for you."

"Merry Christmas, Chris. Before I come in, there's someone here who wants to say something very important."

Gene slunk into view, holding the teddy bear out in front of him like a protective shield. Alex had seen that expression on his face before, when he was holding baby Eileen after they had helped Alva while she was giving birth. Chris's face fell.

"Guv! You - you did tell Shaz I could 'ave the day off - "

Amid his coruscating embarrassment, Gene managed a smile. "'Course I did, Chris, 'course I did. Won't keep you long. Just wanted to stop by to wish you an' Shaz an' Tammy a merry Christmas an' to tell you I'm sorry for this past year. You'd been an arsehole, but I shouldn't 'ave kept on punishing you for so long."

"Guv?" If Chris's jaw had dropped any further, it would have left a groove in the lino. Shaz had come out into the hallway, with Tammy in her arms, and her face bore a similar expression of total supefaction.

"Yeah, want to say sorry, an' I want to say, you've done bloody well this past year. Even though I 'aven't given you any encouragement at all. Bloody well." He clapped Chris on the shoulder, and Alex was surprised that the friendly gesture didn't knock the bewildered boy into a crumpled heap. "Now this 'ere's for Tammy - " he thrust the bear into Chris's arms, with an air of being glad to be rid of it, "this is for you - " he produced the wrapped bottle of wine from his pocket and pushed it into Chris's hand, "an' - 'ello, Shaz, merry Christmas, this is for you." Shaz shifted Tammy to her hip and stepped forward to take her parcel, still bereft of speech. "An' Chris, I've already told Shaz, I don't want you back on duty till January 3rd, but when you come back I want you to 'ave completed these." He produced a wad of folded papers from his breast pocket with a flourish. "Application forms for promotion to Detective Sergeant. Given you two in case you make a mess of the first one." As Chris's arms were full, Gene tucked the forms neatly between the bear and the bottle.

"Er - thanks, Guv, I really don't know what to say - "

"Merry Christmas'll do fine, son. You deserve it. What you didn't deserve is the crap I've been shovelling at you. Time for us all to turn over a new leaf. Now, er, I've promised Drake I'll give 'er a lift 'ome, so I'll cut along now, an' I'll be back to collect 'er when she's ready to leave."

He had already half turned to go, but Shaz stepped forward. It was her finest hour. "Sir. Wouldn't you like to stay for dinner?"

None of those present had to be a psychologist to recognise how Gene's body language betrayed how very much he wanted to accept. "Thanks, Shaz, that's kind, but you won't want me 'ere, an' you've only been cooking for three."

"That's all right, Sir, we've got a huge turkey, and I can do more vegetables."

Gene's face relaxed into a huge grin. "Then I'd love to. Thanks, Shaz."

They all trooped into the flat. It looked exactly as it did when Gene had visited it with Nelson. _I've never been here in my life. If I was just dreaming, how could I have known how it looks?_

He heard Alex talking to Shaz. "You look exhausted, and you've got extra to do now Gene's here. How will you manage?"

Shaz stifled a yawn. "Too late to start any more potatoes, what's in the oven'll have to do, but I've got nearly an hour till the turkey's ready. I didn't expect you yet."

"I know, Gene let us all leave an hour early."

Shaz's voice dropped to an undertone. "Ma'am, what's _happened _to him?"

"I don't know," Alex muttered back, "but I'm encouraging it while it lasts. Look," she added, raising her voice a notch, "why don't you put your feet up for a bit and leave us to deal with the food?"

_Bingo. Keep her busy in the kitchen. Then she might not see the ghost._

"Yeah, why not? Skelton. Kitchen. Now."

The Guv, his tie and jacket removed, his shirt sleeves rolled up, tunelessly whistling _God rest you merry gentlemen_ as he peeled sprouts, was not a sight that either Chris or Alex had ever expected to see. Under Alex's direction, they formed themselves into a production line, washing and preparing the vegetables, checking on the turkey, putting the sausages and bacon into the oven, boiling the sprouts, mixing the bread sauce and gravy, and laying the table. Chris nipped out at one point to check on Shaz and reported that she was fast asleep on the sofa.

"Best place for her," said Alex briskly. "Turn up the heat under the sprouts, Chris."

Gene tried to make sure that someone was with her all the time. He had an instinct that, unless she were alone, she would not be able to see the ghost. The one time he could not accompany her was when she went to the bathroom, and she came back looking perfectly cheerful, so he surmised that nothing untoward had happened.

_It'll happen some time, and I won't be able to stop it. She'll look up and see an apparition that'll break her heart all over again. But not today. Let her have her Christmas._

When dinner was ready, Alex poured the wine, Gene manhandled the turkey out of the oven and set it to rest, and Chris woke Shaz up, inadvertantly woke Tammy up, spent the next five minutes reducing her howls to an endurable level, and eventually brought his exhausted wife to the table.

"Sir, Ma'am, you've been wonderful. Thank you so much for all your help. I don't know how I'd have managed without all of you to help me."

"Been our pleasure," said Gene heartily.

"Don't worry, Shaz, it will get easier," Alex added. "I speak from experience. The first six months are the hardest."

Chris's face fell. "Bloody 'ell, an' we've only 'ad six _weeks_ yet!" He winced as Alex kicked him under the table.

The meal looked exactly as Gene had seen it when he had been there with Nelson, and everything was delicious. The bottle of wine which he had given to Chris, proved to be very good indeed. When they drank to absent friends, he joined Chris in his toast to Sam, and added a couple more names under his breath, too quietly for anyone else to hear. Afterwards, replete, they repaired to the sitting room and exchanged gifts. As well as her raft of presents for Tammy, Alex gave Chris some LPs and Shaz, a set of bath oils and a token for a day at a spa - "for you to pamper yourself when Tammy's old enough to be left with someone for a few hours." As a joint present, she gave them a large photo album, with instructions to fill it with pictures of Tammy as she grew up. They gave her a framed print of a painting by Renoir, because Shaz had once heard Alex saying how much she liked it, and a pretty inlaid box which Chris had found in Borough Market.

Chris and Shaz felt awkward because they had nothing to give Gene, but he waved their apologies aside. "Don't worry about me, I'm the gatecrasher. Get my kicks seeing 'ow 'appy everyone else is." Inevitably Tammy woke up again, without breaking the sound barrier for once, and much to his discomfiture Gene was induced to hold her in his arms and have his nose pulled by her unbelievably tiny, perfect fingers. His reluctant sense of wonder was something which Alex would treasure. Nonetheless he was overwhelmingly relieved when Shaz took Tammy back before she could piss, puke, or start yelling again.

Chris was resplendent with pride. "She doesn't cry when you're around, Guv. Shows she knows who's boss."

"In my experience," Alex murmured to Shaz, "women, whatever their age, know _they_ are the boss. Right, Shaz?"

"Roger that, Ma'am. Roger that."

-oO0Oo-

Alex and Gene tactfully left fairly early, to give Chris and Shaz some time on their own once Tammy had been put to bed.

"_No_, Gene," Alex said firmly as they walked back to the Quattro.

He stopped, bewildered. "No what? I 'aven't asked you anything yet."

"No, I will _not_ go out to dinner with you tonight. After all that turkey, I don't want even to think about food until tomorrow's breakfast, and that will probably be a dry water cracker."

"Oh." Gene's shoulders sagged with disappointment.

"On the other hand," Alex said thoughtfully, "you've still got to come back to my flat to collect your lion. Luigi gave me another bottle of very good wine and a very fine bottle of single malt. We could spend the evening polishing them off, setting the world to rights. Just like old times."

"_Single_ malt?"

"Uh-huh."

He unlocked the Quattro. "Let's get it out of its cell and interview it."

**Epilogue**

It was just gone 11.30pm on Christmas night, and Nelson had just managed to lock up the Railway Arms. Heaving a sigh of relief, he picked up a loaded tray and carried over the the table where Gene and Sam had sat so often in times past. Three men were sitting there.

"That's your single malt, Mr Mackintosh; Sam, your large Scotch; the red wine for you, Mr Summers, and the pint's for me. Merry Christmas, gentlemen." He put the tray aside and sat down with them.

"Thank you, Nelson." Mac raised his glass. "Gentlemen, I give you the successful conclusion of Operation Christmas Carol." They clinked glasses and drank. "Thank you to all of you for your assistance."

Nelson saluted smartly. "Always a pleasure to help the police, Sir."

Mac sipped his Scotch and stretched out his long legs in comfort. "Nice place you have here, Nelson. Very cosy."

Nelson bridled. "Thank you, Sir. Sorry none of you will have very long to enjoy it. I couldn't turn the punters out early tonight. For some of them, a jar here is the only Christmas they get. But you know they wouldn't be able to see you, and I'd never have got away with serving a tray of drinks to an empty table while they were still here."

"Quite understandable, Nelson," said Mac reassuringly.

"I'm afraid it means you'll have to drink up quickly, though. I know you all have to leave at midnight."

"Unfortunately." Sam stared unhappily into the depths of his glass.

"What do you mean, unfortunately?" said Summers sharply, ignoring the warning glances from the other two. "You're going back to Heaven. More than can be said for some of us," he added bitterly.

"I know. But even Heaven can seem like a punishment when it separates you from those you love."

"But you were always a good man. Why are you being punished?" said Mac curiously.

"_I committed suicide,_" said Sam bleakly.

"In 2006."

"That's right."

"But you did that to save the lives of your friends in 1973. Wasn't that taken into account?"

"I learned after I died in 1980, that I'd been booked to die in 2013, shot by a bank robber while protecting a member of the public. I'd stolen seven years from my life in the future. Just think, how many crimes I'd have prevented, how many criminals I'd have put away, how many lives I'd have saved, in seven years. The man I should have rescued in 2013, will be killed because I won't be there. My mother died of cancer shortly after my suicide. She'd been undergoing treatment since shortly after my accident, but she never told me because she didn't want me to worry about her and jeopardise my recovery. She waited by my bedside for months while I was in that coma. So patient and unselfish, and what sort of gratitude did I show her? I ran out on her - straight over the side of a building. My death destroyed her. She couldn't understand why I'd killed myself when I'd only just come back to life and had everything to live for. She gave up fighting. So my punishment was, that the only time I could spend with Annie and the others was the seven years that I'd stolen from my other life. The crowning irony is, that if I'd been patient, and waited until my time came in 2013, I'd still have gone back to them in the tunnel at exactly the same time, but I had no way of knowing that. I guessed wrong. It'll be long years before I see my sweet Annie again."

"Yes." Summers sounded chastened. "Sometimes we aren't allowed to know what we need to know, to act for the best. Look at me. I wanted to set things right, but I ended up creating more wrongs."

"Come, gentlemen, no more of that. It's Christmas," said Nelson determinedly, refilling all the glasses.

"Thank you, Nelson." Mac drank. "So, how is our - ah - patient doing today?"

Nelson picked up the remote and pointed at the TV above the bar. The screen jumped into life.

"Told you those brackets would hold," Sam said impishly.

The screen showed Gene and Alex sitting on the sofa in her flat, drinking whisky, laughing and talking, completely at ease with one another. The charm bracelet gleamed on her wrist and the little bronze lion, on the coffee table in front of them, looked well pleased with himself.

"Is that all?" said Mac disappointedly.

"They've got the past thirteen months to work through," said Sam gently. "They can't repair everything at once. Give them time."

"So, what about _next_ Christmas?" said Mac hopefully.

"My department." Summers held out his hand for the remote.

"Click of the switch, vision of the future." Nelson handed it to him, and he pressed a button. The screen changed to show Chris sitting on his sofa, bouncing a thirteen-month-old Tammy on his lap and singing "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" to her, off key. Shaz sat beside them, watching and laughing.

"So Tiny Tammy did NOT die," said Mac with great satisfaction.

"Oh, no," said Summers. "Running her parents ragged, as you see. Foresight is a wonderful thing. Next March Hunt will interest himself in the case of a young woman suspected of killing her baby. He will get Drake and Skelton to research the possibility that it could have been a cot death. Drake, with her knowledge of future developments in research into the prevention of cot death, will be able to pass on the latest information to Skelton, who in turn will pass it on to his wife. As a result she will start setting Tammy to sleep on her back instead of her front. They'll never know it, but that will save the child's life. They'll also get that poor woman cleared."

"Excellent. What else?"

Summers pressed another button, and the screen changed again to show the living room in Gene's house. A huge Christmas tree was covered in fairy lights and delicate, old fashioned glass baubles, and the room was festooned with paper chains made from old magazines. The bronze lion stood on the sideboard. Gene and Alex sat on the sofa, wrapped tightly in one anothers' arms, her head resting on his chest, as they gazed into the firelight. Both were casually dressed, she in a pale grey tracksuit top and leggings, he in a navy rugby shirt and jeans. The charm bracelet glittered on her wrist and a slender silver chain, with a small blue topaz pendant the colour of his eyes, shimmered about her neck. None of the watchers had ever seen Gene look so completely at peace.

"She looks very much at home," Mac commented.

"That's because she _is_ at home," said Summers triumphantly.

"Ah."

Alex stirred. "Penny for them."

"Eh?" said Gene absently.

"Just wondered what you were thinking about, so deeply."

"Just thinking 'ow different this Christmas would 'ave been, if I 'adn't changed my mind last Christmas."

She disengaged herself and sat up, looking straight at him. "Why _did_ you change? You never would tell me. On Christmas Eve you were a right bloody Scrooge, and on Christmas Day you were full of the joys of the season. You'd become the man I love once again. What happened, Gene?"

He opened his mouth to answer, and changed his mind. "Got you another Christmas present."

"Oh?"

He reached into his pocket and produced a small gift wrapped parcel, no more than an inch and a half cubed. Even as she was tearing the wrapping paper off, he was fruitlessly reaching out to take it back. "Stupid idea, you won't want it, forget it…"

Beneath the paper was a small dark blue velvet box. She opened it, and inside was an enchantingly beautiful diamond ring. The stones sparkled in the light from the fire and the tree, but they seemed like paste beside the sparkle of her eyes.

"Er, well, now you've found it, er, will you - "

"Yes, Gene! Yes, yes, YES!" She tore the ring from the box and placed it upon her finger.

Gene was nonplussed. "Er - you mean you like it? That you'll - ?"

"YES!" She threw the box aside, grabbed the astonished Gene in a passionate kiss, and pushed him back on the sofa before he could resist, straddling him and growling like a lioness.

"Didn't stand a chance," said Mac with satisfaction. He and Summers leaned forward eagerly to watch, but Sam reached across the table, twitched the remote from Summers' hand, hit the Off button, and tossed the remote to Nelson, who pocketed it. Mac and Summers looked disappointed, but Sam laughed.

"Let them have _some_ privacy." He raised his glass. "Gentlemen, I give you Christmas Yet To Come!"

They clinked their glasses, and as they drank, the first chime of midnight sounded. All the lights in the pub went out. Nelson had been expecting that. In the darkness, he heard three glasses besides his own being set down. At the last stroke, the lights came on again, and he was alone. Four empty glasses stood on the table in front of him.

"A merry Christmas, gentlemen," he said softly. "God bless us, every one."

**THE END**

**A merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all my readers - and (**_**almost**_** quoting Dickens), as Nelson observed, **

**GOD BLESS US, EVERY ONE!**


End file.
